A Spot Of Bother
by Little Miss Bump
Summary: Alan contracts the most common of childhood illnesses. Only his situation is made a little more embarrassing due to the unfortunate fact that he isn't an adorable little boy. He's fifteen years old. And teenagers with chickenpox are far from 'cute'.
1. Chapter 1

**_Me again, folks!_**

**_Yup, it's another story already. I seriously spoil you guys. :)_**

**_Standard Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any of the original Thunderbirds characters, all credit for their creation goes to Gerry Anderson and his team. However, the OCs in this story are mine and cannot be used without my expressed consent. Ta muchly._**

**_Enjoy!_**

* * *

Alan tapped his pen lightly against the still-blank page of his notebook, his head propped up on one hand as he gazed unseeingly in the direction of the teacher's desk. His thoughts were a thousand miles away from the afternoon chemistry lesson, images of sandy beaches and dense tropical jungle floating around in his head as his body relaxed against the desk in front of him. Chemistry just wasn't particularly appealing right now.

He was beyond tired. What had started out as minor fatigue during Miss Garret's math class first thing that morning had soon developed into a full-blown exhaustion that seemed to envelop every fibre of his being. The only thing he wanted to do now was crash onto the couch in his dorm with a DVD and a _big_ glass of milk.

Mr. Daniels' animated lecture rolled over him in faint, echoing waves as his mind continued to wander.

"....and as we can see on the graph, the rise in temperature causes a significant increase in the rate of sulphur dioxide production. Now, casting our minds back to the discussion we had on molecular theory yesterday morning, who here can tell me why that is?......Anyone?"

Alan's gaze drifted over to the large clock above the door. _Five minutes. Just five minutes left and then it's the weekend. I can sleep in late tomorrow, chill out in the rec. room with the guys, volunteer to be on safety standby during motocross training so that I don't have to ride. Yeah, tomorrow's gonna be good. I just need to get through the rest of today first._

"How about you, Alan?"

Startled out of his own thoughts, the teenager blinked rapidly, bringing his vision back into focus and glancing towards the middle-aged man at the front of the classroom. Mr. Daniels was looking at him expectantly, the interactive whiteboard pen held in one hand as he beckoned for Alan to answer with the other.

Skimming over the notes on the board in an attempt to work out what the question was, Alan stalled for time. "Erm...."

With his usual cheerful energy, the teacher turned back towards the board and drew an arrow that pointed towards the steeper part of the curve on the graph. Jabbing the line several times with his index finger to emphasise his point, he looked at the class again.

"Come on, boys, I _know_ it's the last lesson of the week, but I need you to keep your brains in gear for just a few more minutes, alright? Now, think hard. _Why_ do we see this sudden increase in gaseous molecules?"

Alan shot a sideways glance his bored-looking peers. The empty seat beside him seemed all the more noticeable as the silence stretched out for several long seconds, the sound of the ticking clock the only noise in the room. The student who normally sat in that seat would've been bursting to answer the teacher's question by now. His closest friend and semi-adopted family member, Fermat Hackenbacker, was away with the school's math team for the state championships. The three-day event was being held on the other side of New England, so Fermat wouldn't be returning to Wharton's until Sunday. Things seemed abnormally quiet in the classroom without his friend's eager input.

"Look," Mr. Daniels spread his hands, "you boys have two options: one of you can answer the question correctly before the bell goes or you can _all_ complete an essay over the weekend. Your choice."

Faint, panicked whispers floated around the classroom and Alan grimaced. Essays. He hated essays.

Glancing towards the whiteboard, he thought quickly - a difficult task for someone with a brain that felt like a sponge - took a deep breath, cleared his throat and stuck his hand in the air.

Using his forefinger to push his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose, the teacher beamed. "Alan?"

Uncomfortably aware that thirty-four pairs of eyes were watching him, Alan shifted in his seat. "Is it because there's, like, an increase in kinetic energy which means that the particles....like," he paused, moving his hands around in the air awkwardly, "move faster and kinda....collide with more energy and react more often than they normally would....or something."

__

Man, that sounded lame.

Mr. Daniels slammed his hand down against the top of his desk, a grin threatening to split his face in two. "Bingo! As Alan rightly pointed out, there is an increase in kinetic energy as the temperature rises, which allows the particles to collide more often and with more force, thus," he tapped the graph on the board, "increasing the rate of sulphur dioxide production."

From the other side of the classroom, Alan saw one of his friends, Ben Anderson, mouth the word _'geek'_ in his direction, a wide smile spreading across his face. Alan just shrugged and leaned back in his chair, twirling a pencil around between his fingers in an attempt to look casual.

"So," the teacher continued, setting down his electronic board pen and beaming at the class, "instead of writing me an essay, I want everyone - and yes, that includes you, Mr. Anderson, so pay attention - to go over the section we did last week on reaction rates. That's pages forty-six to forty-nine in your books. Take notes, draw pictures, make up songs about it - I don't care what you do, just _learn it._"

A murmur of laughter swept across the room and Mr. Daniels smiled, leaning against the side of his desk and crossing his arms over his chest. "As you all know, due to the unfortunate timing of the staff training day, there will be no school on Monday, so you boys are gonna miss out on our usual double period."

The majority of the class cheered.

"Yes, I know, it's tragic," the male teacher chuckled, rubbing a hand through his short brown hair. "But I'm afraid you'll just have to wait until Tuesday for the continuation of this topic, when we will be having a thrilling pop quiz-"

A chorus of loud groans filled the classroom, aggravating the annoying headache that had begun to build up behind Alan's eyes.

"-on _everything_ we've been discussing this week. And since that's enough exciting news for today," he glanced down at his watch and grinned, "you boys are free to go. Please return all borrowed apparatus to the appropriate draws and push your chairs under the desks before you leave. You know the drill."

Alan rubbed his eyes and yawned, shaking the fuzziness out of his vision as he stood to his feet and reached down to grab his rucksack. He felt plain _weird_. It was almost as though he'd had no sleep at all. But that simply wasn't the case. He'd slept a full nine hours last night and he hadn't done anything particularly strenuous so far today, other than walk from class to class. He'd even gone up to his dorm after a light lunch and dozed all the way through the fifty minute break. So why was he feeling so exhausted?

Sometimes, he mused, life just sucked.

"Nice save, Speed," a loud voice interrupted his thoughts, a heavy hand clapping down on his shoulder. "Knew that oversized brain of yours would come in handy for something. You think if you spoke up more in English, Mr. Cooper would lay off on the essay assignments?"

Alan swung his bag onto his shoulder and smiled at the other teenager. Out of all his friends, he should've guessed that Jake Maleski would be the most relieved about the withdrawal of the essay threat. It was no secret that the young athlete hated prep work. He was the bane of every teacher's life.

The sharp, resounding ring of the school bell echoed around the room. Alan zipped his bag closed. "I was that good, huh?"

"Yup. Although you could've piped up a little faster," Jake remarked, spinning his pen on the desk top absently. "For a moment there, I really thought we'd end up with that homework assignment. You can't do things like that to me, Al, it's not good for my health. How d'you expect me to win gold at the Olympics with a damaged ticker?"

Slowly walking towards the door on the other side of the room, Alan gave a weary sigh. "Hey, just be glad I didn't blow anything up. Last time I was _this_ tired, my old school had to call the fire department. Good thing we weren't doing any practical work."

Jake grinned, reaching across to smack another boy around the back of the head as they passed by his desk. "Look alive, Ben."

The dark-skinned teenager stuck his foot out, nearly succeeding in tripping Jake over. "Jerk."

"Boys," came Mr. Daniels' voice from the front of the classroom, "save it for the corridor."

Ben grinned, standing to his feet and slinging the strap of his satchel over one shoulder. "But Sir, we're not allowed to fight in the corridors."

Mr. Daniels sat down in his desk chair and reached for a stack of papers. "Not my problem."

Alan smirked, shoving both his friends towards the door to get them to move faster. It was too hot in the chemistry lab, he needed some air. The majority of the students had already filed out, but the remaining eight or nine teenagers were creating quite a din. The noise sounded strange and muffled in Alan's ears, almost as though the speakers were stadning a sizable distance away from him. And his legs were starting to feel weird.

Yeah, he _really_ needed some fresh air.

"Alan, could I have a word with you for a moment?"

Glancing back towards Mr. Daniels in surprise, Alan nodded mutely, readjusting the strap of the rucksack on his shoulder - more of a nervous habit than a necessity - and coming to a halt in front of the door. The remaining students filed past him, looking at him quizzically as though trying to ascertain what he had done wrong. Ben reached out and tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention.

"We'll wait outside," he stated awkwardly, pointing towards the door as he and Jake began to walk backwards. Alan nodded again, turning back towards his teacher as he heard the door slide closed with a soft _'click'_.

The blond-haired boy stepped up to the large wooden desk, waiting expectantly. Mr. Daniels glanced up from the stack of reports in front of him and smiled warmly, setting down his pen and interlocking his fingers together with practised ease.

"Is everything alright, Alan?"

Blinking at the unexpected question, the blond teenager replied with an overly cheerful, "Yeah, everything's fine, Sir."

"Are you sure?" the teacher pressed, leaning forwards and eyeing him critically. "You weren't your usual self today. Every time I looked up, you seemed to be half asleep. You don't find me _that_ boring, do you?"

"No, Sir." Alan smiled wearily and shook his head. "I'm just tired, I guess. It's been a long week."

Mr. Daniels raised an eyebrow. "Alright, if you say so. But if it turns out you're sickening for something, you'd better be ready to protect me from your father. I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on you, remember?"

Alan groaned and let his head drop. Gregory Daniels had been one of his father's closest friends during high school. According to his dad, it was their mutual love for science that had broken the ice. And whilst Gregory had gone on to study chemistry at Harvard, Jeff had signed himself up for the NASA engineering and technology college on the other side of the country. The long distance between them and the significant time difference had put a stopper on their friendship. Over time, they'd completely lost contact. And then, just under a year ago, Gregory had begun teaching at Wharton's, having decided to take a break from university lectures.

That's how he'd been reunited with Jeff, on the first day of term after the summer break when Alan and his father had been saying their goodbyes at the reception desk. Much to Alan's embarrassment, his science teacher and the Tracy patriarch had soon become firm friends once again. Not long after that, Jeff had quietly asked Gregory if he would 'keep an eye' on his youngest son. Alan hadn't taken too kindly to being treated like a child on his first day at kindergarten, but he'd soon discovered that Mr. Daniels was a nice enough guy. He'd never once pulled the 'keeping an eye on you' card.

Well....until now.

"You - you're not gonna call my father about this, are you?" Alan asked hesitantly.

"About what?" Gregory looked at him steadily, a soft smile tugging at his lips. Alan let out a relieved sigh.

"Thanks."

The chemistry professor looked back down towards the pile of papers, taking up his pen again. "Be sure to let Fermat know about the pop quiz," he instructed lightly. "Although might I suggest that you wait until _after_ the state championships are over? The last thing the team will want is their star player studying chemistry right before the final competition."

Alan grinned. "Don't worry, I'll wait until he gets back."

"Thank you." Mr. Daniels pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose with one finger and used the other hand to point towards the door. "Now, run for your life and enjoy your weekend."

"F.A.B., Sir."

The teacher sent him a knowing look as Alan smirked and headed towards the door, pulling it open and jumping out into the corridor. Letting out a sigh as it closed behind him with a _'click'_, he rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand and gave another yawn.

"So," a loud voice came from directly behind him, making his jump at least a foot in the air, "what did old Daniels want? You get a detention or something?"

Alan adjusted the strap of the rucksack on his shoulder and shook his head, turning to face Ben. "Nope. Nothing that exciting. He just wanted to make sure I wouldn't forget to tell Fermat about the pop quiz."

Ben looked thoroughly disappointed. "That's _it_?"

"Yup, sorry." Alan glanced around the almost-empty corridor and frowned. "Where'd Jake go?"

"Um, hello?" Ben tapped his watch. "Does 'track team meeting in five minutes' ring any bells? You're supposed to be there, genius."

Alan swore loudly, taking off in the direction of the dormitory block as fast as he could run with Ben's laughter echoing after him down the corridor. He'd completely forgotten about training. His naive hopes of having a relaxing afternoon were swiftly going down the drain. But they weren't lost yet. Maybe his coach would decide it was too icy to run track?

The teenager scoffed as he burst through the double doors of the dormitory building, sprinting up the stairs towards the floor where he and Fermat shared a room. He'd trained in the snow before, he doubted a bit of frost would change Coach Stevens' mind.

Nope, he'd just have to grin and bear it. And hope that he didn't fall asleep during the meeting.

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Alan pulled his hands inside the sleeves of his jacket and hugged his arms to his chest, hopping from foot to foot in an attempt to keep warm. The bitter chill of the February wind was cruel and bone-deep, making his teeth chatter and his arm hair stand on end. His breath came out in white, steamy puffs, his cheeks and nose smarting from the biting cold. Whereas before he'd wanted to stand still and do nothing, he was now very much looking forward to jogging around the track and warming up a little.

It was official: his coach was crazy.

For example, who else would decide to hold the meeting _outside_, when there was a perfectly suitable _heated _room inside the school where the track team normally congregated for planning purposes? Perhaps Alan wouldn't have minded it so much had it been any other training session, but today just wasn't going well for him. What he really wanted right now was warmth, junk food and sleep. Preferably in that order, although the topic was up for debate.

He hadn't even heard half of what his coach was saying - or, well, shouting. He was honestly too tired to bother listening anymore. Instead, his mind seemed to be focusing on the strangest of things; small, pointless things that he would've normally overlooked. Like the grass, for example. The cloudy sky had blocked out the majority of the sunlight, allowing the frost to remain as crisp and glittering as it had been first thing that morning. Alan found the noise that was produced when he stepped on the frozen blades to be highly fascinating; certainly far more interesting than anything his coach was saying.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his ribs as Jake roughly elbowed him into alertness.

"Dude, wake up!" the other boy hissed, talking behind his arm as he casually brought up a hand and ran into through his short black hair.

Alan snapped back to attention, eyes darting towards the coach in time to see the muscular man clap his hands together impatiently.

"Why don't I see anybody running? C'mon, c'mon, look alive!"

_'Warm-up laps,'_ Alan sighed inwardly, forcing his weary legs to begin pumping as he and Jake jogged over towards the orange running track that circled the grassy playing field._ 'Great. Ah well, at least it might help to bring some of the feeling back into my feet.'_

His fatigue became more noticeable as Coach Stevens told them to pick up the pace. It was still only light warm-ups, yet Alan was already struggling to keep going. Jake kept sending him brief glances as they jogged alongside each other, the taller teenager's brow furrowing every time Alan began to lag behind.

"You feelin' okay?" he asked, keeping their pace steady as the rest of the team moved off down the track ahead of them.

"Yeah," Alan panted. "I'm fine. Why?"

"Because," Jake looked back towards the track in front of them, arms pumping as he jogged with relaxed ease, "you look like hell. You sick or something? If you're not up to running, you should tell Coach."

Alan frowned in annoyance. "Jake, I'm _fine_. Just drop it, would you?"

Jake gave a slight shrug. "Suit yourself. But if you're coming down with whatever bug Ben's little brother's got, don't you dare give it to me."

Shooting a sideways look at his friend, Alan raised a questioning eyebrow. "Ben's got a little brother? I thought he was the youngest?"

"Nope," Jake breathed, creating a small puff of white steam. "He's got a four-year-old half brother. The little guy got sick after the family came up to school to see Ben. How did you manage to miss all this?"

"Oh, so that's who the kid was?" Alan puffed out breathlessly, eyes lighting up in realisation. "This was just over a week ago, right?"

"Yeah," Jake replied slowly, looking at is friend quizzically and slowing their pace all the more. "Why?"

"I came across this little kid in the canteen," Alan explained between pants. "He'd gotten lost somehow and was bawling his eyes out.....I took him back to the reception desk, but Coach Stevens called me away before the family got there." He sniffed, the cold weather making his nose run. "I knew Ben's family had come up to visit him that day, but I never made the connection. Huh. So....what did the kid come down with?"

Jake began to say something, but broke off when a loud, gruff voice shot out across the field.

"Tracy! Maleski! You call that running?! Jake, pick up the pace, let's go! Get those Roadrunner legs of yours working!"

As his friend shot off like a bullet, Alan gritted his teeth, doing his best increase his speed. The next two laps completely depleted his energy reserves and, by the time he began his third circuit, his legs were like jelly. With the rest of the team over half a lap in front, he knew his inability to run was glaringly obvious. But the coach was busy watching Jake speed around the track, perhaps he wouldn't even notice how far Alan was lagging behind....

"Tracy, front and centre!"

Alan slowed to a walk and let out a heavy sigh. _Face it, Alan, the world hates you._

Stepping off the orange race track and onto the frosted, grassy playing field, Alan tried to catch his breath as he slowly made he way towards where Coach Stevens was standing in the centre of the pitch, bare arms crossed over his chest.

_I knew it, he's crazy. What sane person would wear a t-shirt outside on a day like this?_

"Coach?" he panted as he came to stand in front of the tall man, already knowing what the topic of their conversation was going to be about. However, the ex-Olympic champion runner surprised him by clapping him on the shoulder in a gruff but friendly manner and nodding in the direction of the school.

"Go pack your bags, Alan. You're leaving."

Alan blinked, stunned. Sure, he wasn't performing to his max on the track right now, but _expelled_?!

"Sir," he stuttered, a frown furrowing his brow. "Sir, I don't understand. Why do I-"

Stevens grinned, shaking his head. "Relax, Tracy, it's just for the weekend," the muscular man assured him, reaching down to unclasp a data-pad from his belt and waving the device in Alan's face. "I got an IM just a moment ago from the reception desk. Says there's a visitor waiting to take you home. And, apparently, I have to let you leave now so that you don't miss your flight." He lowered the pad and gave Alan a slightly disapproving frown. "You know, it would've been easier if you'd just told me about all this beforehand and skipped practice instead of lazing around the track for ten minutes."

"I - I didn't know," Alan murmured, his foggy mind trying to make sense of the sudden news.

The prospect of going home certainly appealed to him right now, what with his fatigued body and aching head. But why all the secrecy? The last time he'd been picked up from school unexpectedly, it had been to fly halfway across the country to the hospital where Gordon was undergoing emergency surgery after his hydrofoil accident. Is that why he was being collected? Had something happened to one of his siblings?

"You mean you weren't expecting this?" Coach Stevens sounded surprised. Alan shook his head mutely and swallowed, suddenly feeling dizzy. The teacher's eyes darkened in concern. "You feeling okay, kid?"

"Yeah," Alan cursed inwardly at how weak his voice sounded, "I'm fine."

The man didn't seem convinced. "Go home, Son. And get some sleep, you look like hell. I'll see you on Tuesday."

As the coach shoved him in the direction of the school, Alan stuck his hands in his jacket pockets in an attempt to warm his frozen digits. The grass _'crunched' _beneath his running shoes, but the sound was no longer of interest to the worried teen. Images of horrific rescue sites and injured siblings flashed through his mind in an endless, torturous slide-show. Scenes out of his worst nightmares filled his consciousness, bringing forth a cold, heavy weight somewhere in his gut. Had there been another terrible accident? Another brother injured, maybe even killed?

But Gordon's crash had happened almost four years ago. He was older now, he was almost sixteen. They would've called him if something bad had happened, right?

Somehow, that thought didn't make him feel any better.

Quickening his pace, he headed into the changing rooms, all thoughts of his own physical state shoved aside as he grabbed a change of clothes out of his locker. His body wasn't going to be at ease until he'd found out who had come for him and why they were here. In the meantime, all he could do was hope and pray that his fears wouldn't turn into reality.

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Alan entered the school through the grand front entrance, his heart hammering away in his chest. Instead of weaving his way around the hoards of students in the corridors, he'd opted for exiting through the left wing of the school and walked around the outside of the building. He'd figured that the fresh air would do him good anyway; it would give him time to calm down before he met up with whichever family member was waiting for him inside.

If it even _was_ a family member. Lady Penelope had arrived to pick him up from school at the end of term on more than one occasion.

Stepping into the warmth of the reception area, Alan blinked at his surroundings in silence. It never failed to surprise him how big the place was. And the absence of swarming teenagers certainly put emphasis on the heavy silence that seemed to dominate the area. Aside from the whir of computers and the gentle ringing of telephones, there was almost no sound at all. Since the reception hall was cut off from the general student corridors, very few students passed through this way unless, like Alan, they had entered the building through the front entrance. Consequently, it was far from busy.

A few Wharton's students sat about in chairs along the right hand wall, slumped against the furniture and staring down at their shoes as they waited in silence. In the far corner of the hall, beside a giant potted tropical plant, two teachers in navy suits and contrasting ties talked quietly to each other, the light shining down from the chandelier in the centre of high ceiling and reflecting off their balding heads.

Forcing himself to concentrate on his present situation, Alan walked across the carpeted floor and up to the reception desk, resting his hands atop the high, wooden surface. In front of him, a middle-aged woman with greying hair and glasses sat bent over a stack of papers, an electronic data-pad clutched in one hand as she murmured to herself softly. Alan cleared his throat.

"Um, excuse me, Ma'am?"

Glancing up, the receptionist smiled at him kindly, taking off her glasses and allowing them to hang down on a string of dark purple glass beads about her neck. Alan spotted an ID badge pinned to her blouse, noting that it read 'Ida Harding'.

"How can I help you, dear?" she asked cheerfully, pushing the papers aside for a moment

Feeling a little more at ease, Alan leaned against the desk and began, "Coach Stevens said that I had a visitor. He said reception sent him an IM or something? My name's Alan, Alan Tracy."

"Alan Tracy," Ida murmured, skimming down a list of names on her computer screen. "Ah yes, now I remember. A visitor did come to see you about twenty minutes ago. He's in the family waiting room. Go on in."

Alan smiled politely and inclined his head. "Thank you, Ma'am."

As he walked away from the reception desk and towards the semi-transparent sliding doors that lead to the waiting room, Alan's head swam and his mind buzzed with the new information he'd just acquired. _She said it was a 'he', so that rules out Lady Penelope. It's either Dad, Brains or one of the guys. That still doesn't make me feel any better. It was Virge who came to pick me up when Gordon had his accident. Oh God, please don't let it be anything serious._

The doors slid open before him with a soft _'hiss'_, revealing a spacious room filled with padded chairs and comfortable looking couches. A giant plasma-screen TV practically covered the wall to Alan's left, the volume turned down so low that the news reporter's murmur was almost indistinguishable against the sound of ringing phones and whirring printers from the reception desk out in the main hall. The room almost empty, save for one person. In the far corner of the room sat a lone figure - a figure that Alan recognised instantly.

His older brother sat with one leg crossed casually over the other, a sports magazine propped open against his knee as his piercing blue eyes skimmed over its contents. He seemed oblivious to Alan's presence. But the younger Tracy, overjoyed at seeing his brother's relaxed posture and realising, therefore, that there was nothing to worry about, couldn't hold in his excited exclamation.

"John!"

The blond-haired head snapped up towards the door, the startled expression morphing into a goofy grin as the astronomer spotted his younger sibling. Throwing the magazine down onto the pile on the table next to him, he jumped to his feet and stepped forwards as Alan darted towards him.

"What on earth are you doing here?"

"I'm happy to see you too, Sprout," John chuckled, pulling the smaller Tracy into a firm embrace. "Dad figured that the staff training day on Monday was a great excuse to drag you back home for a long weekend visit. Sound good?"

Alan hugged him back tightly, relief and embarrassment over his own stupidity rolling around within him as he let out a long sigh. Nothing was wrong. Everything was fine. Life was good.

Then he felt John's body stiffen and the twenty-four-year-old pulled away sharply.

Alan looked up at his brother. "What?"

"You're freezing," John murmured, rubbing Alan's arms in an attempt to bring some warmth back into the icy limbs.

Laughing softly, the teenager shook his head. "In case you hadn't noticed, it's pretty cold outside."

John's eyes widened. "Wait a sec," he frowned, eyeing Alan dangerously. "Are you telling me you were out there in sub-zero with nothing but a t-shirt on?!"

Alan realised his mistake a moment too late. Actually, in his defence, this was the first time he'd noticed that his attire wasn't suitable for the current weather conditions. The jacket he'd been wearing out on the track was now at the bottom of his running kit in his gym locker. He hadn't even thought about the cold temperature outside as he'd walked around the outside of the school building to get to the main reception, his mind having been somewhat.....preoccupied at the time.

Wincing inwardly, he tried to shrug it off with a casual, "Well, I'm wearing jeans too, aren't I?"

Smacking his brother lightly around the back of the head, John sighed his displeasure. "Kid, are you _trying_ to get pneumonia?" He shrugged off his Armani jacket, wrapping it around Alan's shoulders. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Squirming under his brother's disapproving gaze - John always got to him in a way that even his father could never quite achieve - Alan gave another shrug and let his breath out in an explosive sigh. Usually, he'd make up some lame-ass excuse and try to bluff his way out of a situation like this. But this time, for some reason he wasn't fully aware of, he felt compelled to tell the truth.

"Look, I was worried, okay?"

John's expression immediately softened, his blue eyes searching Alan's face. "Worried?" he repeated, pulling Alan down onto the nearest couch. "Worried about what?"

Alan sighed, slipping his arms into the sleeves his brother's jacket, grateful for the added warmth. "Look, it's stupid," he mumbled. "It's just that - well, I had no idea you were coming, so I wasn't expecting any visitors to come along and take me home, right?"

Nodding, John waited for him to continue.

"Well," Alan paused for a moment, wrapping his arms against his chest, "I - I guess it made me think back to the last time something like this happened." He swallowed heavily and looked down at his feet. "You know, Gordon's accident and stuff. Sure, it was in a different school and I was younger back then, but it still turned something in my stomach. And what with you guys always running right into danger on rescues, I thought.....I though that-"

He broke off, letting out another frustrated sigh and rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"You thought that something had happened to one of us," John finished softly, understanding dawning in his eyes. He looked at his younger brother in tender sympathy. "Alan, I'm sorry, I shoulda thought of that. Maybe this was a bad idea-"

"No!" Alan's head shot up. "No, don't think that, this is awesome. I was just being stupid. Seriously, this weekend's gonna be great."

John ruffled his hair, his features relaxing into an easy smile. "So, you up for spending a few days at home with us elderly folk?"

Alan grinned, pushing the older Tracy's hand away. "Sure thing, Gramps." Then he paused, shaking his head. "Dude, aren't you supposed to be, you know," he pointed towards the ceiling, "up there?"

"I needed a break from the stars," the taller blond replied lightly. "The cosmos is only satisfying for a certain amount of time. Man craves the company of others."

The teenager snorted. "Still exhaling poetry, I see."

"You got a problem with that, short stuff?" John grabbed him in a playful headlock and rubbed his knuckles into Alan's scalp.

"Gah, no, get off! Okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! _John!_"

Laughing, the astronomer released him and clapped him on the back affectionately. "Glad to see you're still as annoying as ever."

Alan smoothed down his hair and mock-glared at his older sibling. "I'd say the same about you, 'cept I'm not particularly 'glad' about it." Suddenly, the smile slid from his face as his slow brain logged onto a fault in their plan. "Hang on a sec, what about Fermat? He's still at the championships. D'you think he's gonna be okay with this?"

John held up a calming hand. "Don't worry, everything's cool. Fermat's known about this for quite a while."

Alan wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but there'd be time to find out later. Frowning up at his brother with a quizzical expression upon his face, he tilted his head to the side.

"How'd you get here anyway?"

John looked left and right slowly, almost as though he were checking to make sure nobody in the empty room would be within hearing range, and leaned in closer, his face serious and his eyes shining.

"I discovered the secret to teleportation."

Alan pretended to look enthralled. "Seriously? What is it?"

John lowered his voice to a whisper. "Chocolate."

The teenager gave a loud laugh, shaking his head and looking down at the floor. "Talk about an anticlimax." He sobered up a little and glanced over at his brother. "Did you take one of the jets?"

"Yup." John tapped his hand against his denim-clad knee absently. "I had to drop something off at the office in New York, so I took Tracy One."

Alan sighed. "Not nearly as exciting as teleportation."

John chuckled, poking him in the back to get him to move. The two brothers stood to their feet and Alan shrugged off John's jacket, suppressing another yawn. The warmth of the material had made him feel sleepy again, the adrenaline from before having ceased to pulse around his body the moment he'd seen John's smiling face.

As he handed the garment back to his older sibling, John frowned slightly, reaching out to take the jacket with one hand as he pressed the back of the other against the skin of Alan's upper arm.

"You're still like a block of ice," he stated. "You're gonna end up sick if we don't warm you up soon. Tell ya what," he glanced down at his watch, "why don't you go grab a hot shower? I need to sign a load of paperwork before we can leave here anyways. Let's see......d'you think you can be showered, changed and packed in less than twenty minutes?"

Alan nodded confidently. "Yup."

"Awesome." John gave him a shove towards the door. "Your time starts now."

Jogging through the reception area and into one of the side corridors, his energy suddenly renewed, Alan grinned happily. The day was turning out better than he'd ever hoped. There were so many questions that still needed answering - the most pressing of which being who the heck was up on Thunderbird 5 if John was down on earth ahead of schedule? - but those questions could wait until later. It was a four hour flight from Wharton's landing strip back to Tracy Island. He could quiz his older brother to his heart's content once they were in the air.

Keying the access code into the lock on his dorm room door, Alan smiled to himself.

This was going to be a weekend to remember.

_TBC..._

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**The weekend will certainly be memorable, but not quite in the way that Alan had envisioned. More on that next time. **

**Review please!**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Goodness gracious me! That's a lot of reviews! All I can say is....wow. And thanks! And keep 'em coming! *grins* I was truly flattered by the response, I wasn't expecting the story to become so popular that quickly. I'm just pleased to know that my humble fictional drabbles have entertained others besides myself._**

**_Now please, read on and enjoy the chapter...._**

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John ticked another row of boxes, his eyes skimming over the formal statements as he held back a frustrated sigh. This was the eighth form he'd completed within the last fifteen minutes, and the questions were become rather repetitive. Sure, he understood the importance of security in a school like Wharton's, where every student was a potential target from kidnappers who wanted to hold the son of a filthy-rich parent for ransom. It had happened before. Twice, in fact. John had researched Wharton's history back when he was still one of its students. Security was certainly crucial to the safety of those who resided in the school

But seriously, did there need to be so much paperwork?

Each lengthy legal form wanted him to say the same thing; that he wouldn't sue the school for anything that happened to Alan on the Wharton's campus once his brother had been released back into his care. It was just making him state it over and over and over again, and in the most roundabout ways possible.

Quickly scribbling his signature in the box at the bottom, he double checked the page to make sure he'd filled it out correctly. With a sigh of relief, he glanced across the desk at Ida Harding, the kindly grey-haired receptionist who had been patiently waiting for him to finish, and smiled.

"All done?" she asked cheerfully.

John nodded. "Thank God."

Ida laughed softly, taking the form from his outstretched hand and filing it away in a plastic wallet. Setting it aside for a moment, she reached for a large data-pad beside her keyboard and slid it across the top of the desk towards the handsome blond-haired male, holding out a stylus pen. John spun the data-pad around and looked at it with a slight grimace. The receptionist smiled sympathetically.

"This is the last one, Mr. Tracy," she assured him, placing the stylus down beside the pad. "I promise."

Letting out a sigh, John began to skim through the paragraphs of overly formal legal jargon, fully aware that none of it was of any interest to him. The content was almost identical to the other eight forms he'd filled in. Although he had to admit, this one at least seemed to summarise the self declaration statements a little more efficiently than the previous three.

After a few minutes of silent scrolling, he finally reached the bottom paragraph, below which an empty line sat awaiting his signature. Signing his name with a satisfied nod, he looked back towards the female receptionist.

"Finished."

Ida took the data-pad back off him and smiled. "Almost."

John had to try his very best not to groan aloud as the she walked away and slipped through the open door behind the reception desk, disappearing into a back room, clearly with the intention of retrieving something else for him to sign. Sighing, he glanced down at his hands and drummed his fingers absently against the smooth, polished wood of the desk.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the side door to the large reception area slide open and a familiar blond-haired figure stroll into view, a large rucksack hanging off one shoulder and a laptop bag slung over the other. The teenager smiled as he spotted the older Tracy, moving slowly towards him and pulling off his rucksack.

"You still signing papers?" Alan inquired, somewhat incredulously.

"Unfortunately," John sighed. "Don't worry, we'll be outta here in a sec." He eyed the rucksack that Alan had now let drop to the floor beside them. "You sure that's all you wanna take?"

The younger boy shrugged. "It's not like I can wear any of my winter clothes on the island," he pointed out. "Most of my stuff's still in my room at home. Besides, this is just a weekend visit. And I'm no Lady Penelope."

John snorted. "At last, you've seen the light."

Alan elbowed him playfully, smiling as he shook his head. It was good to fall back into the familiar pattern of harmless teasing. He already felt miles better than he had done earlier on that day. Sure, he was still tired and a little achy, but the headache and dizziness were gone. With sleep and food, he'd be fine. This weekend was going to be great.

"Mr. Tracy?"

The receptionist had returned with a laptop-sized black machine, which she set down on the top of the desk in front of John with a loud _'thunk'_. Opening the back of the device to reveal a small data screen and keyboard, she began typing rapidly. She pressed the touch-screen a few times, the machine emitting several soft _'beeps'_ in response. Then, with a cheerful smile, she pressed a button on the side of the bulky object so that a tiny panel slid out at the front.

Realisation dawned upon the second-eldest Tracy son.

"Fingerprint recognition," he stated, pressing his index finger against the panel and watching as a green bar of light moved back and forth beneath his digit. Seeing Alan's surprised expression, he explained, "When you moved to Wharton's, Dad submitted our fingerprints into the system as your emergency contacts so that we could pick you up from school ahead of schedule if the need arose. I'd forgotten about it until now. It's a pretty neat security device, actually; it makes sure that-"

A high-pitched beeping cut him off mid-sentence, originating from the black object on the desk in front of them. A small light on top of the device began to flash an angry red. Withdrawing his finger from the scanner, he winced as the sound continued to blare out across the reception hall, attracting the attention of the teachers and students who, up until now, had been ignoring the blond pair at the front desk.

"What _is_ that?" Alan asked loudly, grimacing as the painfully loud noise reignited the throbbing behind his eyes.

"It's the security alarm," Ida replied, looking a little distressed as she tried to switch off the device. "I don't understand, Mr. Tracy. It doesn't seem to believe that you are who you say you are."

As suddenly as the beeping had started, it stopped, leaving the reception hall in a deathly silence. Although Alan could swear that he could still hear the alarm ringing in his ears.

"Trust me," John reached into his pocket and retrieved a leather wallet, flipping it open to reveal his driving licence, complete with smiling photograph, "I'm John Tracy."

Ida nodded, still looking frazzled. "Don't worry, I believe you. But _this_ contraption doesn't."

Alan, who had been leaning forwards over the top of the desk so that he could peer at the data screen, frowned at the name he saw listed directly beside the highlighted line of assorted letters and numbers - clearly a code of some sort. Glancing sideways at the receptionist, he raised an eyebrow.

"Who's Janice Sullivan?"

Ida blinked. "Sorry?"

"Janice Sullivan," Alan repeated, pointing at the screen. "The line that you've highlighted? That's Janice Sullivan's encryption code thingummy-whatsit. John's name is below hers."

Squinting at the screen, the receptionist sucked in a surprised breath. "Oh Ida, you've done it again," she scolded. Looking up at John, a somewhat mortified expression upon her face, she shook her head. "Mr. Tracy, I am _so_ sorry. You see, I've misplaced my glasses and I really can't see a thing without them. I was sure that I'd clicked on your name. But deary me, I'm never going to get hang of this new system. If they listed the names alphabetically by last name instead of all grouped together like this, we wouldn't have this problem. Oh, I'm terribly sorry for all the fuss."

John smiled at the elderly receptionist kindly. "That's perfectly alright, Ma'am. No harm done."

Ida returned the smile, clearly relieved. It made Alan wonder what sort of response she had been expecting. Although, judging by the self-centered attitude of a number of students at Wharton's, there were a fair few parents who had used their money to by everything except good manners. Perhaps the receptionist had been on the receiving end of a disgruntled billionaire sometime in the past.

"Here." Alan leaned forwards over the desk again and clicked his brother's name, smiling as the line of code that accompanied it turned a highlighted blue colour. Glancing up at his brother, he nodded towards the scanner. "Go ahead, John."

Slipping his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans, his older brother pressed his index finger against the small panel, waiting patiently as the green bar of light moved up and down again. Then, after a long pause in which Ida seemed not to breathe at all, there was a softer, more cheerful _'beep'_, and the light atop the black device turned green. The receptionist smiled brightly.

"Well, that's better now." She patted her bun and sighed heavily. "I need to talk to management about this contraption, it's given us nothing but trouble." She looked up at John and shook her head. "Goodness me, I've held you back far too long. Again, my sincerest apologies. And thank you for your assistance."

"Our pleasure." John clapped his brother on the back, reaching down to grab the younger Tracy's rucksack off the floor. Pulling one of the straps over his shoulder, he gave Alan a gentle push towards the main entrance. "Have a nice day, Ma'am."

The moment the two siblings stepped outside into the cold February afternoon, Alan turned to grin at his older brother. John saw the look and smiled slightly, zipping up his Armani jacket to protect him against the chilling wind.

"What?"

Alan shrugged, beginning to walk away with his hands in his jacket pockets. "Nothing, nothing." Without stopping, he glanced back over his shoulder towards the taller blond. "Are you coming or not, Janice?"

His brow furrowing, John mouthed the word _'Janice'_, his eyes going wide as his brain made the connection. Glaring at the swiftly retreating form of his younger brother, he shook his head. He'd have to find a way to silence Alan - swear him to secrecy or something - before they arrived back on the island.

_Because if Gordon ever finds out about this, I'm doomed._

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Alan dropped down into the co-pilot seat, letting out a sigh of relief as the weight was taken off his aching legs. Rolling his head to the side lazily, he stared at the familiar control panel, drumming his fingers against his knees. His body had returned to the frustrating state of fatigue it had been in during chemistry class, the noises around him seeming overly loud one minute and then strangely muffled the next. It was plain _weird._

His brother stepped into the cabin, jacket slung over one arm and cell phone pressed against his ear as he leaned against the back of the pilot's chair. When Alan glanced at him curiously, he held up a finger as an indication to wait a moment.

"Dad? Yeah, it's John," the astronomer stated, draping his jacket over the back of the seat. "There was a minor delay at the school, but we're about to head off. I noticed the missed calls, were you trying to contact me earlier?.....Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. I left my phone on the jet."

Jeff's voice was no more than a tinny murmur in the flight cabin, preventing Alan from making sense of what his father was saying. But hey, he could still hear John's half of the conversation, that was good enough. Keeping his hearing tuned in but allowing his gaze to wonder, he studied the smudges on the comm-screen between the two chairs, musing absently that Onaha would have a field day if she was allowed to clean vehicles herself. But his father had stated adamantly that the jets and 'birds weren't her responsibility, so it was usually Scott, Virgil or Gordon who cleaned up Tracy One.

No wonder the place wasn't spotless; Gordon's domestic talents were about as extensive as his vocal range.

"You serious?"

Alan looked back towards his brother as the tone of John's voice changed. The taller blond wore a slight frown as he gazed unseeingly at the control panel.

"No, I understand," John murmured, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and letting out a sigh. "We wouldn't wanna risk it in Tracy One. She's hardly a Thunderbird. Hmm? No, don't worry, we'll be fine. Sure....We'll call again when we reach Brookfield. What hotel did you say it was?....Right."

Alan frowned. This conversation was getting weirder by the second. What on earth did they need a hotel for?

"I know, I know." John let out a chuckle and shook his head, straightening up. "Tell Scott to quit worrying, we won't try to fly through it. We'll see you tomorrow. Okay. Take care."

Snapping the phone shut, John let out a heavy sigh and slipped the small device into his pocket. He gazed at Alan in silence for a long moment, his expression serious. The younger Tracy frowned impatiently.

"C'mon, John, I'm not telepathic. Spill."

John winced, rubbing the back of his neck. "There's been a slight change in plans," he began.

"What sorta change?" Alan asked slowly, almost suspiciously.

"There's a nasty looking storm front moving across the pacific," John explained, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the back of the pilot seat once again. "Originally, it was supposed to pass by a couple of hundred miles on the other side of the island. But it decided to change course earlier this afternoon. Five's weather surveillance system picked it up and sounded the alert. It'll have blown over in nine hours or so, but there's no way of telling how bad it'll affect our area. Dad doesn't want us to risk flying the stretch from the mainland to Tracy Island in winds that strong."

Alan was silent for a moment as he digested the information.

"So," the teenager said at last, the word exhaled in a short sigh, "what's the plan, then?"

"The plan," John continued, straightening his shirt absently, "is to fly to Brookfield, where we can store the jet at the airbase overnight. Scott's already booked us a room at that hotel down the road from the hospital. D'you remember that place?"

"Actually," Alan gave a dry laugh, "I was usually the one in hospital."

John grinned. "Well then, I guess this'll be a new experience." He sobered up a little, glancing across at his younger brother. "Look, I'm sorry about all this. We'll still be able to spend tomorrow with the rest of the guys; if we leave Brookfield at seven, we can arrive home into time for breakfast. It's only an hour from the airbase to the island. But we'll have to fend for ourselves tonight. You okay with that?"

Alan nodded. "Sounds good to me, space-case."

Rewarding his brother's cheeky remark with a light cuff to the back of the head, John sat down in the pilot's seat and powered up the jet's engines. Glancing sideways at the teen, he smiled knowingly.

"Hey Al, you wanna fly for a bit?"

Alan eyed the controls for a short moment, torn between his passion for flying and the urge to close his eyes and sleep for the duration of the journey. At last, his body won the argument and he shook his head, sitting up a little straighter and fastening the safety harness across his chest.

"Nah, I'm okay."

John sent him a quizzical look, one eyebrow raised to its usual height of ascension upon his forehead. "Who are you and what have you done with my younger brother?"

Lazily sweeping his arm to the side to lightly hit his brother's shoulder, Alan shook his head. "That joke's so _beyond _old, it should be made illegal," he complained half-heartedly, closing his eyes and leaning back into the seat with a weary sigh. "Whatever happened to originality, oh great and wondrous published author?"

"Probably ran away with whatever was left of my masculinity after the whole 'Janice' incident."

"Ya know," Alan mused, opening his eyes and smirking at his older sibling, "I actually think that name suits you better."

John laughed, sending his brother a mock-reproachful look. "Ouch."

Grinning, Alan allowed his gaze to drift over to the side, staring lazily at the tarmac runway that surrounded the jet. In the background, he could hear his brother checking the systems, the soft _'whir'_ of the engine increasing in volume and pitch as John vamped it up to full power.

"All systems are green," John reported cheerfully. "Blunderbirds are go."

Alan chuckled, shaking his head and watching as the runway began to move away beneath them. In the distance, on the other side of the lake and across the playing fields, he could see the long, uneven, sandy-coloured block of a building that was Wharton's school. He could even make out the grand marble pillars that marked the entrance to the main building. As Tracy One began to pick up speed, even the school began to move; slowly at first but gradually slipping further and further behind them.

Then the plane tilted steeply as they took off and Alan smiled at the familiar and welcoming sensation that momentarily wrapped itself around his stomach. He'd been experiencing the same feeling for as long as he could remember, and his mind always linked it with home. He didn't know why. But that was one of the reasons he enjoyed flying. It gave him a sense of peace that, try as he might, he was unable to replicate by any other means.

Several long minutes passed by in silence as Alan continued to gaze out of the window, allowing the gentle _'whir'_ of the engines to serenade him. As a young child, the sound had practically been his lullaby. One of his first memories was of his father flying him to the mainland for his Saturday Little League soccer practice. Afterwards, the two of them would grab dinner at a diner someplace before flying back to the island. It was never particularly late in the evening when they set off for home, but Alan had always been too exhausted to stay awake. And so, with the soothing murmur of the jet engines playing in the background, he would fall asleep curled up on a passenger chair in the main cabin, usually with his father's jacket draped comfortably over his torso.

In fact, the engines were beginning to have the same affect on him now. He was already so tired, he was finding it hard to fight it off. But he didn't want to sleep, not with John there. He hadn't seen his brother face-to-face since Halloween.

Scrubbing a hand over his eyes and blinking rapidly to wake himself up, he rolled his head to the side and exhaled heavily. John glanced over at him and smiled.

"The world giving you trouble, Sprout?"

Alan grinned. "No more than usual." He shifted in his seat so that he faced John and leaned his folded arms against the armrest. "So," he began.

"So," John repeated, his eyes focused on the clear sky in front of him.

"If you're down here, who's up on Five?"

John grinned. "Wow, kiddo, you managed to hold that in longer than I thought you could," he joked, reaching across to ruffle Alan's hair. The younger teen pushed his hand away with a mock glare and John returned his attention to the flight controls, clearing his throat as he continued, "I got home on Monday afternoon. That gave me time to unwind and readjust to normal gravity before I flew out to the Tracy Industries office in New York on Wednesday."

As his brother paused for a long moment, Alan grew impatient.

"John, c'mon, you know that's not what I asked," he complained, a hint of a whine in his voice. "Who replaced you? If you made Gordon go up ahead of schedule, you'd better watch yourself when you switch places again. He'll have booby-trapped the whole station."

"Nope, not Gordon." John released one hand from the controls and rubbed his chin absently. "He and Brains switched rotations so that we could both be here when you came home."

"Wait, what?" Alan's eyes searched John's face, a frown tugging at his brow as he realised that the older Tracy wasn't joking. "John, you didn't? You _knew_ it was the state championships this weekend, Brains is supposed to be at the finals! It's all Fermat's been able to talk about for the past month!" He ran a hand through his hair in frustrated distress. "Man, he's gonna _hate_ me for this."

To Alan's surprise, his brother began to laugh. As the younger blond shot his sibling a hurt and incredulous look, John sobered up a little and smiled over at him.

"Alan, this whole surprise was Fermat's idea."

The teenager blinked, mouth hanging open slightly and eyes wide.

"He specifically requested that Brains be the one on Five," John continued, "so that Gordon and I could both be here when you came home. He said it wasn't fair that there always had to be one of us missing when you two came home from school, so he arranged all this behind your back about a month ago. Pretty neat, huh?"

Alan shook his head. "Neat? Nuh-uh, neat doesn't cover it. This is freakin' awesome!"

John mirrored his brother's grin. "That's more like it."

Gazing back out of the window, fatigue replaced by a heart-warming happiness, Alan shook his head. He'd never perceived that Fermat was the calculating type, but clearly he'd been mistaken. The young genius had played his part perfectly, Alan had never suspected a thing. All those phone conversations he'd overheard as his best friend talked to his father over the comm-line in their dorm room must have been staged. Why, only last week the two Hackenbackers had been discussing hotel arrangements for Brains' trip over to New England to see Fermat participate in the state finals. Alan had been sitting on his bunk doing math homework at the time, he hadn't given the conversation a second thought. But it had all been part of his best friend's grand scheme.

_Man, Fermat's awesome. I owe him one. More than one, actually. It's been way too long since I've been at home with all the guys. At Christmas, John was up on Five. And Gordon missed out on my Halloween weekend because John was still recovering from that sprained ankle. All in all, it must've been nearly seven months since we've all been at home together._

As he watched the tiny housing estates and postage-stamp fields roll by thousands of feet below them, Alan smiled. He'd been feeling pretty run down lately, and this weekend visit was a perfectly timed pick-me-up. He'd go back to school on Tuesday with a bounce in his step. He'd run rings – quite literally – around Jake out on track, proving to Coach Stevens that he was just as fast as John had been during his senior year. Everything would be great.

Settling back against the padded co-pilot's seat, the teenager exhaled a satisfied, albeit weary, sigh.

Life was good.

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The afternoon had been everything John had hoped it would be. The three-hour flight from Wharton's to Brookfield airbase had given the two Tracys plenty of time to catch up on all the news they'd forgotten to tell each other via the tele-comm. And John had to admit, although being at home with his whole crazy family was great, it was kinda nice to have some time alone with his younger brother.

They had dropped their belongings off at the hotel and gone out to an Italian restaurant for dinner; a nice, casual place that would serve them decent food without members of the papparazzi snapping pictures of them through the window. It was during dinner that John had first begun to sense that there was something out of place. Sure, Alan had smiled and laughed as much as he would any other day, but there was definitely something missing. The younger Tracy just seemed to....lack energy. It wasn't right.

And now, back in the privacy of their large hotel suite, the teenager's fatigue was glaringly obvious. John silently watched his brother out of the corner of his eye as Alan leaned back in the plush armchair to the left of the couch, rubbing the middle of his forehead with the tips of his fingers.

John's brow furrowed. _You, little brother, have a headache._

Picking up the remote from the glass coffee table in front of the couch, John pointed it at the 72-inch, wall-mounted, plasma screen TV and turned down the volume considerably. Glancing back towards his brother, who hadn't moved from his previous position, the elder Tracy crossed one leg casually over the other and tried to keep his voice mildly inquisitive.

"You okay, Al?"

Alan gave a soft grunt of affirmation and dropped his hand, blinking owlishly in the dim light. Smiling at his older brother wearily, he gave a slight nod.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired, I guess." As if to prove his point, he let out a jaw-cracking yawn.

Still feeling the unpleasant tendrils of concern spiking up through his chest, John gazed at him steadily. "You sure that's all it is?" he pressed. "You've been uncharacteristically subdued ever since we touched down. You hardly ate anything at dinner-"

"They put anchovies on my pizza," Alan mumbled, bringing his knees up to his chest and running a hand through his hair sleepily. "You know I hate anchovies."

"-and it's pretty obvious that you have a headache," the older blond continued, leaning forwards on the couch to study Alan's features more intently.

The teenager straightened up. "I _don't_ have a headache."

John frowned, reaching for the TV remote again. Turning up the volume on the wall-mounted device until the anchor woman was shouting her scripted news report, John looked back towards his brother in time to see Alan wince and shrink back against the armchair. Lowering the volume again and switching off the TV, John tapped the remote against the arm of the couch and raised an eyebrow.

"You wanna try that one again?"

Alan leaned his forehead against his arms - which, in turn, lay folded across the top of his bent knees - and groaned out a pathetic, "I hate you."

John pushed himself up off the couch, heading across the living room area of the hotel suite, brushing a hand over Alan's hair as he passed by. The lack of protest at the affectionate gesture was glaring proof that his little brother was as exhausted as he seemed.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the mini-bar, he walked over to where he'd dropped his duffel bag, near the entrance to the bedroom. He unzipped the side pocket and rooted around for a moment, casting a quick glance over his shoulder towards his younger sibling, who seemed to have practically fallen asleep where he sat. Locating the item he was looking for, he straightened up and pushed the bag aside with his foot, returning to the seating area.

"Here." He nudged his brother gently and held out the bottle of water, perching on the arm of the couch.

Alan raised his head and blinked up at him groggily, taking the proffered item. "What?"

John smiled, holding up the small, orange-tinted, cylindrical plastic bottle and shaking it slightly so that the pills rattled around inside.

"Tylenol," he stated simply, tipping out two of the white pellets and placing them in his brother's hand.

Alan unscrewed the cap of the water bottle and swallowed down both tablets in one gulp. Releasing a heavy sigh, he gazed at John with half-lidded eyes and offered the older blond a weary smile.

"Thanks."

"No problem." John accepted the bottle when his brother extended it back towards him, reaching out to set it down on the glass coffee table beside him. Turning to face the teenager once more, he cocked his head to the side, studying the boy's sleepy features.

Raising an eyebrow, Alan smirked. "Dude, I know I'm handsome and all, but you're starting to creep me out."

John punched his brother lightly on the arm and grinned, shaking his head. Then, with a sigh, he locked eyes with the younger boy and held Alan's gaze steadily. "You sure there's nothing else you wanna tell me?" he pressed, interlocking his fingers together and allowing his hands to hang down between his knees as he leaned forwards. "Nausea, dizziness, sore throat?"

Alan rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay, enough with the Virgil act already," he grumbled in good humour. Seeing his brother's somber expression, he sighed. "Seriously, John, I'm fine. It's been a long week, that's all. I just need to sleep it off."

"Alright. You'd best get to bed, then." John clapped the teenager on the shoulder fondly and sat back against the couch. "I'll see you in the morning, kid. We need to be outta here at seven if we're gonna make it back to the island in time to see Virgil emerge for breakfast. You think you can wake up in time?"

Nodding, Alan stood up and stretched, several soft _'clicks'_ filling the brief silence as his stiff joints loosened up. "Sure thing."

As his brother moved across the room, scooping up his rucksack from the wooden table against the wall as he passed by, John gave a slight wave, reaching for the TV remote with his other hand. "G'night, Sprout."

Stopping in the doorway to the bedroom, Alan looked back at the taller blond and grinned in a way that only he and Gordon ever could.

"G'night....._Janice_."

Then, in a flash of blond hair, he was gone, leaving the echoed _'thunk'_ of the swiftly closed door in his wake. John smiled to himself, settling back against the couch with a satisfied nod. There couldn't be anything terribly wrong with his brother if the kid was maintaining his usual cheeky attitude. Alan was fine.

_Although,_ the astronomer mused, _if he keeps calling me Janice, he won't be 'fine' for long._

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**_Many hugs to CC, who's going through a rough time at the mo. Hope this chapter brought a smile, honey._**

**_Reviews are wonderful and very much appreciated. Now, I've been around on this site long enough to know that the second chapter very rarely gets as many reviews as the first, but could you give it a try? *grins* Review pour moi, s'il vous plait!_**

**_Have a great week._**

**_xox_**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Why does it always rain in Britain? *sigh* Nah, it's okay, I like my wet and cloudy kingdom. :) It gives me an excuse to buy funky umbrellas.**_

_**Thanks for another awesome wave of reviews, my lovelies. And a big, warm, fuzzy bear-hug of a hello to all those who are new to my stories and reviewed for the first time. Little Miss Bump welcomes you with open arms! (Yeah, creepy.) And to the anonymous reviewers who cannot receive personal replies, many thanks indeed. I love hearing from you. **_

_**Now, back to the story.....**_

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On his first day at kindergarten, Scott had told him that new experiences were an exciting adventure.

_"You get to do something for the very first time, Al," _he'd said, handing Alan his Bugs Bunny lunchbox. _"And that's always fun!"_

Well, Alan was pretty sure that this was the first time he'd awoken to the sound of a fire alarm screeching in his ears, but this new experience was far from 'fun'. Scott had clearly been mistaken.

It only took him a second to realise what was going on. Throwing back the covers, he swung his legs over the side of bed and sat up, his mind whirling as adrenaline began pumping through his veins. His eyes darted about the room, the dim glow of the dawn through the blue curtains providing him with enough light to see clearly.

On the bed opposite his own, John was already pulling on his shoes and reaching for his jacket, his actions swift but controlled. To look at him, you wouldn't have thought that the second-eldest Tracy had only been pulled from sleep a few moments ago. Indeed, if it weren't for his unkempt hair and rumpled pyjamas, Alan would have been inclined to suspect that his brother had been awake for hours.

"Grab your jacket," John ordered calmly, his voice barely audible above the shrill alarm. Jumping up off the bed and zipping up his own jacket, he headed towards the door.

Stuffing bare feet into sneakers and not bothering with the laces, Alan reached for said item of clothing and ran after the older Tracy, struggling to put his arms into the sleeves as he jogged passed the small sitting area and out into the corridor, where the bright yellow light from the ceiling lamps stung his weary eyes. Wincing, he looked down at the carpet, blinking away the white spots from his vision

The alarm sounded far louder out here, the noise drilling a hole through Alan's brain as he grimaced, half tempted to press his hands against his ears to help block out the high-pitched whine. Standing on tip-toes, he began searching for John amongst the small crowd of people who had assembled along the narrow, carpeted passageway. The fear in the air was tangible, the murmur of worried voices increasing in volume as more pyjama-clad figures emerged from their hotel rooms.

An age-worn and weary looking man stood a few feet away from Alan, glancing up towards the ceiling as though searching for the source of the noise. "What in tarnation _is_ that?"

Alan opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when the door across from him opened and a balding, grim-faced man stalked out, eyes burning with anger as he pushed his way through the group and began loudly demanding an explanation for the disturbance. The youngest Tracy ignored him, turning back to the old man who stood close by.

A frail old lady - probably his wife, Alan mused - now clutched at the man's arm fearfully, pulling her shawl closer about her shoulders. "Heavens, Bill, do ya think it's terrorists?"

Bill shook his head. "Naw, Sally," he drawled. "It's probably one o' those tornado warnings that them there weather specialists told us about at the science museum, remember? Now, as I rightly recall, the weather lady did say we were gonna have some nasty winds during the night. But did she say anything about a _tornado_? Hell, no!"

At the word 'tornado', the noise level jumped up another notch as people began to fret.

"Okay, everybody, listen up!"

Alan gave a half-smirk and glanced over at his brother. _Trust John to take charge in a situation like this._

The panicked babble in the corridor died down almost instantly, all heads turning towards the blond-haired figure who stood calmly beside the entrance to the main stairwell. John smiled reassuringly, the screech of the fire alarm not seeming to bother him in the slightest.

"If my suspicions are correct, the sound you're currently hearing is the fire alarm." A new chorus of fearful whispers swept through the assembled group. John held up a hand for silence. "Now, I need everybody to head this way as quickly and as calmly as possible," he instructed loudly, indicating the carpeted stairs behind him, the wide, golden handrail glinting in the light of the corridor. "Don't push, don't panic, don't stop. Head all the way down to the ground floor, where there will hopefully be hotel staff waiting to guide you to a safer location. If in doubt, just head on out into the parking lot. Everyone got that? Good. Let's go."

As the crowd began to make their way towards the wide staircase, Alan hung back and waited until everybody had passed him by. If John was taking the lead, he'd take up the rear - that way they could ensure that nobody was left behind. Standard formation; Scott would be proud.

Two figures clad in red hotel uniforms suddenly emerged from the back of the group, having apparently just made their way up the stairs. One was a young, harassed-looking individual who couldn't have been any older than twenty, clad in his uniform black trousers, red jacket, white shirt and ghastly crimson tie. He sprinted straight past John and down the corridor to the far end, where he began knocking loudly on the doors to the hotel rooms, calling in a somewhat strained voice, "Hello, is anybody in here? Hello?!"

The sight would have been amusing had the situation been less serious.

"Alan, c'mon!"

Seeing John's urgent beckoning, the younger Tracy swiftly made his way over to where his brother was standing. Beside him, a young female staff member - whose high-heeled shoes, Alan noted, must've been causing her a heck of a lot of difficulty as far as running was concerned - flashed him a grateful smile and stepped away from the astronomer, sweeping a hand towards the staircase.

"Please make your way down to the main entrance as quickly as you can. Another member of staff will be there to direct you safely out of the building."

John inclined his head in acknowledgment, reaching across to grip Alan's shoulder and steer him out through the door and down the staircase. They rapidly descended three floors, neither blond speaking as they ran, the high-pitched screeching of the fire alarm the only sound to be heard other than the soft thudding of their feet on the carpeted stairs. They arrived on the ground floor, which - aside from the large, round reception desk towards the front of the room and a few gold-tinted luggage trolleys scattered here and there - was simply a vast, carpeted area of formal-looking emptiness. The two brothers quickly made their way towards the revolving glass doors where a middle-aged woman, clad in the same red jacket and black skirt as her other female colleague, ushered them outside.

The dim light of the early morning seemed positively gloomy in comparison with the artificial hotel lighting. It struck Alan just how early it must be. Glancing down at his watch, he raised a surprised eyebrow.

_Man, it's only just gone four-thirty. So I guess this can't be a random fire drill. No hotel would intentionally drag their customers out of bed at this time in the morning unless there was an actual fire, it'd ruin their reputation. Still, I didn't smell any smoke. Maybe it's just a small fire?_

Pain lanced through his temple, unbidden and unexpected, drawing a slight hiss from Alan's lips. Rubbing a hand over his face, the youngest Tracy winced and blinked rapidly to dispel the fuzzy, heavy feeling that seemed to pull down on his eyelids. Despite the renewed energy that pulsed through his veins, his head was still half asleep.

A gentle hand on his back made him jump. Glancing up, startled, he found himself looking into the concerned face of his older brother.

"You okay, Sprout?"

Alan smiled weakly, nodding automatically even before his sluggish, adrenaline-powered brain had fully absorbed the question. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine"

John gripped his shoulder again and lead him over to a low wall that surrounded a small, exotic flower bed. Pushing him down gently to sit on the smooth concrete surface, the older Tracy pointed at Alan's shoes.

"You ran down three flights of stairs with your laces like that?"

Glancing down at his feet, the teenager shrugged. "It's not like I had time to tie them in the hotel room."

John sighed and rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Do 'em up before the inevitable happens, kid. I know we're only a couple of minutes away from the hospital, but that's no excuse to go breaking anything."

Alan sent him a mock frown, reaching down to comply all the same. "Jerk."

The older blond chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Hey, I'm just keeping our best interests in mind," he argued. "_You_ don't wanna end up in hospital and _I_ don't wanna have to call home and break the bad news to Dad - or, even worse, Scott."

Then he looked across to the large group of assembled pyjama-clad citizens, taking particular note of the large number of elderly folk who seemed to make up at least half of the crowd. "Listen, I'm not sure how serious this fire is, but that was a pretty disorganised evacuation. I'm gonna go check for injuries. Stay here until I get back, okay?"

Alan rolled his eyes, beginning to tie the other shoelace. "John, please. I'm almost sixteen."

John raised an eyebrow. "And?"

Seeing his brother's expression and sensing that this was an argument he wasn't going to win, the younger sibling let out a heavy sigh and leaned his elbow against his knee, propping his head up in his hand.

"And I'm gonna stay here until you get back," he repeated glumly.

The twenty-four-year-old clapped the shorter Tracy on the shoulder. "Atta boy."

As John walked away and disappeared into the large crowd, Alan allowed his gaze to drift down to the rough tarmac of the parking lot. The fire alarm was still screaming out its high-pitched warning and the faint whine of sirens - originating from either the approaching fire trucks Alan could see in the distance or the incoming ambulances on-route to the hospital - created such a level of noise that it was impossible to allow his mind to wander far from his current situation. Plus his head was beginning to ache again, which was putting a stopper on his usual imaginative daydreams.

Dragging a small stone across the ground with his sneaker-clad foot and studying the thin, white line it left behind, he inhaled a deep breath and let it out again in a loud, heavy sigh.

It was going to be a long morning.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Alan leaned his arms against the back wall of the shower cubicle, pressing his forehead against the refreshing coldness of the white tiles and allowing the water to run down his back and across his shoulders, the droplets running down his chest and splattering around his feet in an endless, erratic torrent.

Man, but he was tired. The unexpected early awakening had left him feeling groggy and bone-weary, especially now that the last of the adrenaline had worn off. After arriving back at their hotel suite, all he'd wanted to do was crawl back into bed and sleep. But, as his brother had rightly pointed out, he'd only have to drag himself out of bed again an hour later so that they could get a cab to the air-base and head home to Tracy Island.

Maybe Alan wouldn't have been so annoyed if there had actually been a need for the whole 'fire evacuation' situation. But it had all been for nothing.

After standing - or, in his case, sitting - around outside for almost half an hour with firefighters and paramedics moving about the parking lot in a multicoloured blur, the hotel manager had called for everybody's attention and, in his most apologetic manner, expressed his mortification over the unfortunate nature of the situation. He'd stumbled over his words, clearly embarrassed, the phrase _"again, my sincerest apologies"_ cropping up more than once as he spoke to the grumbling crowd without microphone or script. But the long and short of his explanation was pretty simple; there was no actual fire, inside _or_ outside the building, and they could all go back to bed.

Of course, the hotel customers hadn't taken well to that. In fact, if it weren't for John's calming words, there probably would've been an uprising of angry elderly folk.

Furthermore, John had managed to coax an injured member of staff - the woman in the high heels Alan had seen earlier had fallen down the stairs and sprained her ankle - into revealing the finer details regarding the false alarm. Then, back in the safety of their hotel room, the older Tracy had let Alan in on the secret. In the end, it transpired that the fire alarm had been set off by an intoxicated member of staff who - acting under the influence of a few too many beers - had decided that an impromptu fire drill was in order.

Alan smirked. _I think it's safe to say that Booze Boy's career as an employee at this hotel is well and truly over_.

As another tendril of pain snaked its way from his temple to the back of his skull, Alan winced and pressed a hand against the side of his head. Over the last hour, the vice-like pressure around his brain had grown far worse. Whereas before it had simply been a flash of pain every so often, it was now a dull throb that pulsed continuously, occasionally spiking to a sharper dagger-like agony on one side of his head, particularly when he moved around too much. In fact, the ache was reaching the point of becoming unbearable and he was almost tempted to ask John for a couple more Tylenol. _Almost._ But his stubborn teenage pride wouldn't quite let him. He'd just have to wait until they arrived back home again and he could sneak the medication without needing to ask his brother.

Stepping out of the shower cubicle, the youngest Tracy shivered at the dramatic drop in temperature and reached for one of the hotel towels. Yawning loudly, his jaw cracking and his ears popping with the release of pressure, he began drying himself off. Through the bathroom door, he could hear the murmur of John's voice as the older blond spoke to somebody over the phone.

"...wasn't exactly what we planned," his older brother was saying. "But hey, it doesn't really affect our flight plan. We'll just be home a little early, that's all. Yeah, no problem...."

Alan smiled slightly at the thought of seeing the rest of his family again. Maybe it was his aching body and weary mind that were making him yearn all the more for the peace and tranquility of the island, but the desire to return home had definitely increased.

Alan bent down to dry his legs, regretting it a split second later when the pain in his head flared into a white-hot ball of pressure beneath his skull. His eyes throbbed and the heat rushed to his face as he let out a muffled grunt and quickly straightened up, a hand shooting out to clutch at the smooth porcelain of the bathroom sink as the world span alarmingly.

_Man, this sucks..._

"Alan?"

Still leaning against the sink, Alan inhaled a steadying breath. Swallowing heavily, he cleared his throat before calling out a falsely cheerful, "Yeah?"

"You almost ready to go, Sprout?" John's voice was muffled by the thick wood of the door. "Dad wants us to get going as soon as we can; before the press gets wind of our whereabouts, ya know? The earlier we leave, the fewer paparazzi hounds there'll be."

"Good idea," Alan agreed, wincing as the volume of his own voice seemed to vibrate through his aching head. "I'm almost done, just give me a sec."

"Sure thing."

Dropping the towel to the floor and reaching for the change of clothes he'd left on the chair beside the sink, the youngest Tracy frowned at the weariness in his limbs. He felt as weak as a newborn kitten. Given the chance, he'd happily curl up in bed and sleep for the rest of the day.

Pausing for a moment to analyse his situation, Alan raised an eyebrow.

_Geez, could I __**be** more pathetic_?

Shaking his head - gently, mind you - and letting out a heavy sigh, he began to dress, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated as he blinked owlishly in the bright glare of the overhead bathroom light. Bending down to gather up his pyjamas off the floor, he winced again at the flare of pain beneath his skull. Straightening up very slowly, trying to avoid the dizziness he'd experienced the previous time, Alan reached for the lock on the bathroom door and slid it back. Turning the handle and pulling the door open, he slipped out of the warm, steamy bathroom and into the chilling coolness of the bedroom.

Sitting down on his bed and pulling his large rucksack towards him, Alan began stuffing his pyjamas into the available space at the top, his eyelids half-closed as the tempting tug of fatigue began to pull him towards the more comfortable realms of sleep.

"Here, catch."

He glanced up in time to see a small, rectangular object soar through the air towards him, the shiny blue outer wrapping glinting in the bright sunlight that streamed in through the wide window. Caught unawares, Alan fumbled to catch the projectile, smacking himself in the face in the process. The item slipped through his scrabbling fingers and dropped to the floor with a soft _'thud'_.

John began to laugh.

Frowning, annoyed at both his own pathetic hand-eye coordination and his brother's response to said skill, Alan shot the older Tracy a withering glare and began stuffing his pyjamas into the rucksack with a little more force than was necessary.

"Ah c'mon, Sprout," John chuckled, sitting down on his own bed and carefully folding his clothes into (at least what Alan thought were) disgustingly neat piles. "I'm only teasing. And you gotta admit, that _was_ kinda funny."

"Yeah," Alan grumbled, pulling the tie tight and clipping the top flap of the rucksack closed. "Hilarious."

John paused in his packing, looking at his younger brother inquisitively. It wasn't like Alan to get so riled up over something so small. Sure, the _old_ Alan would've bitten his head off by now, but the youngest Tracy had changed a lot since Spring Break. He was already nearing his sixteenth birthday.

Shaking his head, John looked back down at his duffel bag and smiled. _Wow, sixteen already. What happened to the little kid I used carry around on my shoulders? Seems like only yesterday that I was teaching him how to ride a bike. And now look at him, almost as tall as Virge. Man, that makes me feel old._

Realising what he was thinking, John grimaced. _Aw geez, I sound like Dad. I really am getting old._

Pulling himself from his thoughts, he returned his attention to his younger sibling. Alan sat on the edge the bed, elbows resting against his knees as he held is head in his hands, the heels of his palms pressing into the sockets of his eyes.

John felt his eyebrows drawing closer together in a concerned frown. "You okay, buddy?"

Alan dropped his hands, sitting up a little straighter on the bed and blinking owlishly at the older Tracy, a pathetic excuse for a reassuring smile tugging weakly at his lips, although it failed to reach his bloodshot eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

The taller blond actually snorted. "Fine my ass."

Gaping slightly at the uncharacteristically Gordon-like comment, Alan could only reply with a weary and slurred, "Huh?"

Brow furrowing again, John leaned forwards, studying his brother's face more intently. "You look terrible, kid," he said, his voice low. "Didn't you sleep well last night?"

"I slept fine," Alan replied glumly, running a hand through his hair and letting out another jaw-cracking yawn. "Up until the moment that the freakin' fire alarm went off."

John nodded sympathetically. Admittedly, he was feeling pretty tired himself, and _his_ body clock was used to sleeping at odd hours of the night and being awoken from even the deepest slumber to the sound of an alarm going off. Being with the stars up in Thunderbird Five was fantastic, but it did come with a price.

And Alan? Well, the kid was already dealing with the effects of being in a different time zone. He'd been exhausted enough last night, and the unwanted wake-up call at four-thirty in the morning could hardly have helped him to recharge his empty batteries. What his younger brother really needed was a good ten hours of uninterrupted sleep.

"Well, it'll take us an hour to fly from Brookfield to the island," John remarked. "Why don't you sleep on the way there? And I'm sure the guys wouldn't mind if you took a nap between breakfast and lunch. We've got the whole weekend together, after all."

Alan held up a hand and shook his head. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. A nap? John, little kids and old ladies take naps. Alan Tracy does _not_."

"Fine," John grinned, "take a siesta."

Smiling at his brother's persistence, Alan gave a slight chuckle. "Maybe."

"Hey, a smile!" John exclaimed, beaming. "At least you're not glowering at me anymore. Seriously, if looks could kill, I'd be all set for pushing daisies right now." Then sobering up a little, he looked at Alan for a long moment, eyeing him critically. "You still got that headache of yours?"

Alan opened his mouth to reply, paused, then seemed to think better of it and let out a small sigh, nodding his head slowly. "The alarm didn't exactly do me any favours in that respect, either."

Turning silently back towards his luggage, John fished around in the side pocket of his duffel bag for the bottle of Tylenol from the night before. Opening the childproof lid with practised ease, he shook out two tiny white pills and leaned across to place them in his brother's outstretched handing. Screwing the cap back on, he stood up from the bed and turned towards the door.

"Hang on a sec, I'll go get you a bottle of water."

Alan help up a hand and shook his head. "Nah, don't bother. I'm good." Dry-swallowing both tablets in one go, he sighed and ran a hand through his damp hair, blinking tiredly. Then, slapping his thighs as though mustering up his energy, he made as though to put on the rucksack. "Okay, I'm good to go."

"Not just yet," John said, bending down to pick up the item that Alan had so spectacularly failed to catch beforehand. Extending the plastic-wrapped offering to his younger brother, he smiled warmly. "You shouldn't take pain medication on a empty stomach, Sprout."

Accepting the proffered item, Alan breathed out a surprised laugh. "Chocolate? For breakfast? Dude, Onaha would skin you alive if she ever found out about this."

"Then I guess I'm just gonna have to hope that my faith in your secret-keeping abilities was well founded," the older Tracy replied, sitting back down on his own bed. Then, eyes widening as a thought came to him, he held up an index finger. "Oh, and that reminds me," he locked eyes with his younger brother, "you know the whole 'Janice' incident?"

In the midst of chewing a mouthful of chocolate, Alan almost spat the candy back out again. At John's frown, he swallowed the sticky substance down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Yeah?"

John leaned forwards. "That stays between you and me, agreed?"

Alan smiled cunningly. "But Johnny, I've really been looking forward to telling Gordon _all_ about it," he stated innocently. "And Virge is gonna want to write a song called 'Janice' in memory of the occasion, and Scott'll feel excluded if I don't let him in on the secret too."

Frowning, John narrowed his eyes. _Alright, Sprout. Two can play at that game._

"I'd really want to keep it to yourself if I were you, kid."

"Oh yeah?" Alan's tone was lightly challenging. "And why would I wanna do that?"

"Because," John replied, slipping his hand into the pocket of his jacket and extracting his cell phone. "I've got Scott's number on speed dial. Now, I can't be absolutely sure about this, but I have a feeling that our big brother would be mighty concerned if I, say.....told him about these _horrible_ headaches you've been having?"

It was Alan's turn to narrow his eyes. "You wouldn't."

"Ya know, Virge would probably want to know, too," John continued thoughtfully, tapping the cell phone against the palm of his hand. "He _is_ the medic, after all."

"I'd deny it," Alan stated, still frowning at the older blond. "You know I would."

John shrugged. "Yeah, so? Which brother d'you think they'd be more inclined to believe?"

Alan paused, realising the unfortunate truth behind his brother's words. Whereas Alan was known for never admitting to his own health problems, John's clean record meant that the second-eldest Tracy was usually deemed the more 'trustworthy' out of the five brothers. Naturally, Scott kept secrets that only he and their father discussed and Virgil, being the family doctor, could never be trusted to tell his patient the whole truth simply on principle. And as for Gordon, well....the prankster's actions spoke for themselves.

But John was right. If Scott - or, God forbid, Virgil - found out about his recent bout of headaches, he'd be scrutinized for the duration of his weekend visit. And boy would that suck.

"Alternatively," John said lightly, giving another slight shrug, "you could forget about the whole 'Janice' incident and then I might suddenly find that I've completely forgotten about those headaches of yours. But hey, voluntary memory loss is just one of your options, I'm easy either way."

"Fine," Alan sighed, swallowing his last bite of chocolate and sticking his hand out towards his older brother. "Deal."

John shook the proffered appendage and grinned. "Pleasure doing business with you."

"Oh, I bet it is," Alan grumbled darkly, but he was smiling.

Standing to his feet, he dropped the candy wrapper into the trash can beneath his bedside table, reaching down towards his bed to grab hold of one of the straps on his rucksack, slinging the light baggage over one shoulder and letting out a soft sigh. The pain in his head had receded again to a dull and bearable throbbing pressure behind his eyes and the conversation with his brother had put some life back into his fatigued body. He felt positively himself again.

Glancing towards his older sibling, he grinned and raised an eyebrow. "Home?"

John nodded, leaning over to zip his duffel bag closed before standing up and slinging the long strap over his shoulder. Reaching out to clap his younger brother on the back, John smiled and released a small, satisfied sigh of his own.

"Home."

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_**Hope you enjoyed reading chapter three. Sorry for the slight delay, life's been pretty hectic this week. And with college going into full swing next Monday, I think I'll be sticking to weekend updates from now on. Life's getting serious now that I'm in my final year and I'll have prep work aplenty. *sigh* Goodbye social life. It's been nice knowing you. Lol.  
**_

_**Reviews are wonderful and feed my hungry muse. Keep her happy for me, yeah? :)**_

_**Have a great week!**_

_**xox  
**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**I'm laaaaate!**_

_**Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, SORRY! College madness consumed my life last week and my weekend turned out to be far more hectic than I could've imagined. A farewell party, a sleepover AND a whole ton of homework meant that Internet access - and, implicitly, spare time in which to write out this chapter - was limited. But hey, I'm only a day late, and I'm here now. That's all that matters, right? *holds up fluffy cushion protectively* Don't shoot, don't shoot!**_

_**Thanks for another round of awesome reviews, they kept me sane during the mad first-week rush at college. But I gotta admit, despite the serious work overload, I really enjoyed being back. It might sound pretty sad to you, but I've really missed Biology and all the banter I share with my fellow science geeks during lessons. Plus my teacher personifies awesomeness.  
**_

_**Anyway, I digress. Back to the story. Here's the next chapter....  
**_

_**

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He was zooming through the skies on his motocross bike, dodging the incoming meteors with unmatched skill. Tin-Tin sat directly behind him, holding onto him tightly, olive-skinned arms encircling his chest as she clung on for dear life, her amazing jet-black hair blowing around her shoulders as the flew thousands of feet above the ocean. Then, in a rush of multicoloured momentum, the bike was gone and he was falling, spinning, sinking, a deep voice echoing in his ears as his heart jumped up into his throat...

_"Alan. Hey, wake up."_

Inhaling a sharp breath through his nose, the teenager awoke with a start, colours and sounds flooding his consciousness as Tracy One's passenger cabin came fuzzily into view. A blond-haired figure stood over him, smiling warmly, a gentle hand resting on Alan's shoulder. The fifteen-year-old blinked up at his older sibling through bleary, half-lidded eyes.

"What is it?" he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face.

"We're home," John informed him softly.

Alan sat up straighter in the chair, allowing his jacket - which John must have draped over him after he had fallen asleep, because it hadn't been there earlier - to slide to the floor.

"Already?"

Ruffling Alan's hair, John flashed the shorter blond an easy grin. "Time flies when you're fast asleep and snoring like a pneumatic drill, Sprout."

"Hey! I do _not_ snore."

John laughed at the more lucid response, stepping back and jerking a thumb towards the closed hatch. "C'mon, Scott's waiting for us outside. And you know as well as I do that he's not a patient kinda guy."

Despite the heavy fatigue that threatened to pull him under, Alan had to grin at that. Patience certainly wasn't a Tracy trait. His father was patient to a certain extent, but with five sons, it was more of an acquired talent than an inherited characteristic. Although, when it came to men that Jeff deemed to be 'foolish' - members of the paparazzi or just about anybody who tried to get to his family against the businessman's will - the patience evaporated in less than a second.

But aside from that, the Tracys were an impatient bunch by nature - John being the only real exception to that rule because, well, he was just weird like that. Still, they were family, and Alan wouldn't have them any other way.

As John began opening the hatch door, Alan unbuckled his safety belt and stood to his feet, wincing as his stiff knee joints popped loudly in protest. Blood rushed to his head in the pulse of a heart-beat and he froze, placing a steadying hand against the headrest and exhaling slowly, waiting for the world to stop spinning. And as quickly as the dizzy spell had come, it vanished again without a trace, leaving Alan frowning at the floor. Shaking his head, he sighed, reaching down to grab his jacket. Slipping his arms into the sleeves and zipping it up, he rubbed his cold hands together. Man, and he teased _Virgil_ about having poor circulation.

"Hey kiddo, you gonna come see the folks? Or d'you wanna just stand there and stare at the floor?"

Glancing up towards his brother, Alan grinned. "Okay, Janice, keep ya wig on. I'm coming"

John shot him a warning look and made a _'Zip it!'_ gesture. The youngest Tracy beamed at him smugly, hurrying to exit the aircraft before his brother retaliated. Descending the hatch steps quickly, his sneaker-clad feet _'clanking'_ loudly against the metal plates, he allowed the relief and satisfaction that came with the presence of the familiar surroundings to wash over him. And the lone figure standing a few feet away was definitely a welcoming sight.

Scott - looking as effortlessly casual as ever in his brown Cargo shorts and plain white t-shirt - stepped towards him, a grin threatening to split his face in two.

"Hey, kiddo!" he called, his voice strong and loving and cheerful; everything it had always been to Alan.

A split second later, the teenager was engulfed in a wonderfully familiar bear hug, two muscular arms wrapping themselves around his back and crushing him against his brother's chest. And, as they had done countless times before during Alan's childhood, the warmth and affection in the embrace banished all negative thoughts from Alan's mind. Suddenly the fire alarm didn't bother him anymore, his weary limbs found their strength renewed in an instant, and his relief at being home jumped up another notch. He knew that the sentiment was childish, but it was true: Scott still managed to make the world right again with a simple hug.

_And if Gordon ever hears me say that, my life is over._

After a moment, Scott pulled away, his hands sliding up to rest on Alan's shoulders as cobalt-blue eyes looked the teenager up and down in an appraising manner. Then the young man sighed, reaching up to ruffle his brother's hair, his hand pausing for a moment with its fingers still entangled within the blond locks as he shook his head.

"Man, it's good to see you, Sprout" he murmured, smiling, his voice low and sincere. "Life's been dull around here over the past month or so without a munchkin to make fun of."

Jerking his head to the side with practised ease so that Scott's hand fell from his hair, Alan punched him on the shoulder playfully.

"I'm telling Dad you said that."

"Ah, c'mon," Scott punched him back, grinning, "don't be such a tattle-tale. Besides, I'm your brother, which - unfortunately for you - gives me a perfectly legitimate reason to make your life a living hell."

John appeared beside them, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and Alan's rucksack hanging off the other. "Picking on the kid already, Scott?" he asked, feigning incredulity. At Scott's cheerful nod, he chuckled and, glancing over at Alan, shook his head in mock sympathy. "There goes your idea of a pleasant weekend, kiddo."

Scott grabbed the strap of Alan's rucksack and pulled it off John's shoulder, swinging it up and over his own. Clapping the older blond on the back, he smiled in greeting. "Hey, John. Good flight?"

John frowned. "Hang on, that's _it_? Alan gets a full-on bear hug and I get a pat on the back?"

"You got a hug on Monday," Scott argued, smirking.

"Oh, so now they're rationed?" John raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm only allowed one a week?"

A grin tugged at the corners of Scott's mouth again, his eyes shining with laughter as he cooed, "Aw, is Johnny feeling neglected?"

"Damn straight."

Scott spread his arms and sighed. "Would Johnny like a hug?"

"Yeah," the twenty-four-year-old confirmed moodily, dropping his duffel to the floor, "Johnny wants a hug, okay?"

Alan laughed, shaking his head in amusement as Scott wrapped his arms around the second-eldest Tracy in a brief but firm embrace, patting his brother on the back consolingly before pulling away and ruffling the younger man's carefully stiled blond hair.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" John complained, pushing Scott's hand away and smoothing down his short blond locks. "Ask permission before touching the hair!"

Scott snorted and rolled his eyes, hitching up the rucksack and looping an arm casually around Alan's shoulders, steering the teenager away from the private jet and towards the large elevator on the other side of the vehicle hanger. John bent down to grab his own luggage before jogging after them, slowing to match their pace when he caught up to Scott's side.

"So," Scott began conversationally.

Alan glanced up at him expectantly. "So?"

"How's school?"

"Cold," Alan replied sourly.

The Air Force pilot grinned. "That's what jackets are for, kiddo."

Thankfully, Scott missed the knowing look that John sent in Alan's direction. The smaller blond grinned apologetically and looked away, deducing that John was thinking about the conversation they'd had about jackets - or, rather, Alan's distinct lack thereof - the previous day. And although the youngest Tracy was a little annoyed that his brother was taking it all so seriously, he _was_ pretty grateful that the astronomer hadn't blurted it out to Scott. He really didn't feel like sitting through one of his eldest brother's lectures right now.

"Not that I'm disappointed about seeing you or anything," John said suddenly, pulling Alan from his musings, "but I thought Dad was gonna be meeting us in the hanger?"

"He'd been intending to," Scott replied, rubbing his chin absently as he readjusted the strap of the rucksack. "But a call came in from London about ten minutes ago, just as you guys were making your final approach."

"Lady P?" John inquired lightly, coming to a halt as they arrived at the elevator.

Scott nodded, reaching out to press the button on the panel beside the doors. "Uh-huh. A guy from Penny's circle of '_old friends_' recently became one of our Russian contacts. He's got the kind of governmental position that'll come in handy if we should ever need help out there, so Dad's been trying to get him established as an official member of International Rescue. It's a pretty important issue, which is why he had to take the call."

The elevator doors slid open and the three brothers stepped inside. Alan scrubbed a hand down his face, yawning widely as another wave of fatigue crept up on him. Scott squeezed his shoulder gently.

"Still fighting the jet-lag?"

Alan grunted and blinked tiredly. "You could say that."

"Fire alarm didn't exactly help things, huh?"

"Nope."

"Well," Scott sighed, squeezing him against his side briefly before dropping his arm from around the teenager's shoulders, "you're home now, that's all that matters. You can sleep all you want."

Shaking his head, Alan gave a weary smile. "I didn't come home so that I could sleep the weekend away, Scott."

"No," the twenty-six-year-old agreed, "but you won't be particularly scintillating company if you're fallin' asleep every five minutes. Best thing to do is recharge your batteries in one go, that way you'll make the most of your visit. Take a nap after breakfast, we can catch up on stuff later this afternoon."

"Haven't you heard?" John interjected, nudging Scott in the side with his elbow. "Alan Tracy doesn't take naps."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Nope. He takes siestas."

"Fine," Scott chuckled, clapping Alan on the back. "Take a siesta, kiddo."

Alan looked at them both in silence for a long moment, then sighed, shaking his head.

"You're so weird."

"Glad to oblige," John replied cheerfully, reaching over to ruffle his hair as the elevator doors slid open with a cheerful _'ping'_ to reveal their father's spacious office.

The early morning sun streamed in through the giant window that stretched from floor to ceiling and curved round in a large semi-circle to create the front wall of the room. Through the three-inch-thick panes, Alan could see far into the distance, the yellow lip of the south beach visible beyond the sea of dense vegetation, at the point where the jungle met the ocean. The breathtaking beauty of it all was enough to fill Alan's heart with a sense of longing. He'd been away from home far too long.

"Looks like Dad's gone to find us," Scott remarked, setting Alan's rucksack down on the empty office chair behind the large desk in the centre of the room. "Never mind. He'll work out where we are eventually; might as well wait until he gets back."

Alan nodded and yawned again, leaning against the wall beside the elevator doors and blinking his heavy eyelids wearily as he surveyed the room. Aside from the long, orange couch that sat in front of the window - the colour looked even more hideous when illuminated by the sun, Alan mused - the decor of the office was actually pretty tasteful. Although the level of freakish neatness was rather off-putting in the teenager's eyes. There wasn't even a pen out of place. Still, it was home. Home sweet home.

As his gaze drifted to the floor, a pair of long, white strands caught his eye, the bright colour standing out in contrast against the chestnut brown of the smooth flooring.

_Dammit. Shoelaces again._

He sighed and stepped forward with his left foot, bending down to tie the offending strands together.

Suddenly, the world flipped sideways, the floor beneath his feet slanting at a disturbingly steep angle as the room seemed to spin in multicoloured blur of wavering objects. One moment he was bending over his outstretched foot and the next....he was on his ass.

And just like that, the world righted itself again, leaving Alan blinking in surprise at the sudden change in position. Both John - who had been standing beside the window with his arms crossed, gazing off into the distance - and Scott - who had been skimming through a small data-pad on Jeff's desk, his brow furrowed in concentration - looked towards him a split second after his butt impacted with the hard surface of the office floor, wearing startled expressions that Alan would have probably found humorous had their attention not been directed specifically in his direction.

"Hey, are you alright?" Scott asked worriedly, dropping the pad back onto the desk and stepping forwards.

Alan waved him off and forced a smile, feeling the heat rising up into his cheeks in embarrassment. The lie came to his lips with alarming ease, the words echoing around in his head as he answered with a breezy, "Yeah, I'm fine. Tried to stand on one leg so I could do up my laces. Didn't really turn out the way I expected."

Remnants of concern still flickering in his eyes, Scott managed to return the smile. "Kid, you've been in and out of hospital since you were old enough to walk. When are you gonna realise that you have a crappy sense of balance?"

Grinning now, Alan shrugged, shifting so that he could proceed to tie up his shoelaces. "Hey, c'mon, I'm not _that_ bad. Still haven't broken my right leg."

"Wow," Scott murmured sarcastically, "what an achievement."

John, who looked less than convinced by Alan's laid-back attitude, stepped up to his younger brother's side and extended a hand down towards him, his eyebrows knotting together in a questioning frown that Alan could easily interpret as the astronomer's way of asking _"Was that really the truth?"_. He forced a more convincing smile onto his face and rolled his eyes at the taller blond's suspicions. However, taking the proffered hand and hauling himself to his feet, Alan had to clench his teeth together to keep from grimacing as a dagger of pain sliced through his temples.

_And now the headaches back. Great._

Moving across the room and perching on the nearest end of the luminous orange couch - the colour itself was enough to make his head throb - Alan drummed his fingers against his denim-clad knees and sighed softly, purposefully avoiding eye contact with John, who continued to stare at him unblinkingly with that all-too-familiar frown of concern tugging at his expressive eyebrows.

He needed a distraction. Clearing his throat, he leaned forwards and let his hands hang down between his knees.

"So," he began cheerfully, unconsciously echoing Scott's opening line.

Scott smiled, leaning against the side of their father's desk. "So?"

"Where's Virge?" Alan asked. "And Gordon, for that matter?"

"Not here," John supplied unhelpfully.

Alan raised an eyebrow. "Huh. Clearly I'm not as important to them as I am to you, Scotty."

His eldest brother chuckled. "Nah, Sprout, you just haven't clued yourself into the level of sacrifice they went through."

Alan looked doubtful. "Sacrifice?" he scoffed. "Pfft, come off it."

"No, seriously," Scott smiled, moving over and plonking himself down on the couch beside the shorter Tracy, "you should feel honoured, kiddo. Virgil sacrificed a whole hour of sleep and actually requested that we wake him up early so that he'd be fully conscious in time for breakfast."

Alan nodded his head slowly. "And Gordon?"

"Gordon volunteered to wake him up."

Grinning, the blond teenager leaned back against the couch and sighed happily. "Okay, that's pretty sacrificial. I feel loved."

"Alan."

Head snapping up towards the source of the call, Alan felt a wide grin engulf his features as he spotted the figure standing in the doorway. "Dad!"

The Tracy patriarch strode passed the desk, dropping a wad of papers down onto the keyboard haphazardly as he made a beeline for his youngest son. Alan jumped up from the couch with such rapidity that the wave of dizziness didn't hit him until he was already wrapped up in a firm hug - and by then, his moment of unbalanced swaying merely appeared to be the result of his sudden change in momentum.

Sighing, the teenager returned the embrace whole-heartedly, smiling when his father began mussing up his hair with one hand as he held Alan to him with the other. Then, brushing a kiss against the side of Alan's head, Jeff pushed him away slightly and held him at arms length.

"Man, you've grown again," he murmured, shaking his head fondly as he gripped Alan by the forearms. "One of these days, you'll come home as tall as Scott."

"Not gonna happen," Scott stated matter-of-factly, ruffling his brother's hair as he stepped passed the pair, heading over the desk in the centre of the room and picking up Alan's rucksack by one of its shoulder straps. Glancing over at the youngest Tracy, he began walking backwards towards the door. "Hey Al, where d'you want this? Bedroom?"

Alan smiled and nodded. "Yeah. Thanks, Scott."

Scott waved away the unnecessary gratitude and exited the room, calling back a cheerful, "No problem, small-fry!"

"I'd better go dump this up in my room, too." John retrieved his duffel bag from the orange couch in front of the window, his movements as slow and wearied as Alan's as he pulled the strap over his shoulder and rubbed the back of his neck, yawning tiredly.

"Gah, I need coffee."

Jeff nodded. "Amen to that."

"Dad, you always need coffee," John sighed, heading towards the door. "I thought you promised Tom you'd try drinking it in moderation?"

"I did try," Jeff argued, looping an arm around Alan's shoulders and guiding him out of the office after his second-eldest. "Not very hard, mind you, but perseverance was never part of the deal. Listen, Son, there are certain things that are an essential part of fatherhood, and a daily dose of caffeine is pretty high up on the list."

John scoffed. "Yeah, _daily_. Not hourly. Tom's been saying that to you for years now."

Alan grinned. Thomas Palmar - an old family friend who'd worked as assistant practitioner and, later, chief medical officer aboard the NASA space station where Jeff had worked on and off for the first eight years of his married life - had forever been trying to persuade the Tracy patriarch into cutting down on the quantity of caffeine he consumed. It was an ongoing battle that, try as he might, Thomas never seemed to win. There had been a climax point almost eleven months ago when the doctor had banned Jeff from the substance altogether, stating that the caffeine - when combined with the increasing stress levels that Jeff was experiencing in the aftermath of the Hood's attack - was making his blood pressure go through the roof.

Of course, the ban hadn't lasted long. The very day that Thomas and his wife, Jennifer, had flown back to the mainland to continue their work at Brookfield hospital, Jeff had simply returned to his old five-a-day habit. And, despite Tom's earlier fears, their father didn't seem to be any worse for the wear because of it. In fact, he was at the peak of fitness. It was a long standing joke in the Tracy household that Jeff's body had merely become immune to the negative effects of caffeine after such prolonged exposure to the substance over the past twenty-six years.

Alan smirked. _Although Scott's heading that way himself. Sure, he's not quite as bad as Dad, but he's close enough. And Scott doesn't even have kids. Well....okay, scrap that, he has the rest of us to take care of. I guess he needs the caffeine as much as any father does._

They reached the end of the long passageway and John headed off up the corridor to the right - the one that lead to the east wing of the villa, where his and Virgil's bedrooms were located. Watching the retreating form silently, Alan stifled another yawn and subconsciously leaned further into his father's hold. Jeff glanced sideways at him, squeezing his shoulder as Scott had done earlier - another characteristic that his brother had apparently inherited, Alan mused.

"John told us about the fire alarm," his father said softly. "Must've been an interesting experience."

Alan pulled a face and looked across at the older Tracy. "Well, 'interesting' isn't exactly how I'd put it. I'd be more inclined to use-"

"_Let's_...not go there," Jeff interrupted, sending his youngest a knowing look.

"Yeah," Alan nodded, the mere thought of the incident from earlier that morning leaving a tinny whine of an alarm ringing in his ears, "that's probably a good idea."

Jeff grinned, shaking his head in amusement. "Let's change the subject, then. How's school been?"

Alan smiled and glanced sideways at his father. "I haven't gotten into trouble yet, if that's what you're asking."

"It's not," Jeff chuckled. "But I'm glad to hear it all the same. How about subjects? Are you managing to keep up with math okay?"

The teenager shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Mr. Finchley thinks I'll be able to ace the advanced course, but he's always been overly optimistic about his students' grades. _And_ he gave us a ton of prep work for Tuesday's lesson, so I'm gonna hafta spend at least a few hours tomorrow going through it."

"Well, you know where I am if you need my help," Jeff offered cheerfully, clapping his son on the shoulder as they approached the dining room. "And I'm sure John and Virgil would be willing to lend a hand. I was good at math, but I never really enjoyed it like your brothers did."

"They're just geeks," Alan muttered.

Smiling, Jeff gave him a gentle shove through the doorway and into the spacious dining room. Alan winced at the sudden jump in light intensity, squinting through stinging eyes at the room around him. Everything was as it should be; the large mahogany dining table shone cheerfully in the glow of the sunlight that streamed in through the bay windows on the left hand side of the room, the glistening blue water of the two pools clearly visible beyond the small seating area on the upper deck outside.

The warm aroma of pancakes and freshly brewed coffee wafted towards him from the open doorway that lead to the kitchen beyond. Alan could hear the tell-tale sizzling sound of bacon being fried in a pan - and, a moment later, his suspicions were confirmed when a wave of salty scent reached his nostrils, making his mouth water. It had been a long while since that candy bar back at the hotel.

The warmth and comfort of it all was making Alan feel exceedingly drowsy. Walking over to the chair nearest to him - which, coincidentally, happened to be his own - he pulled it away from the table and sat down heavily, leaning his crossed arms atop the wicker place-mat and allowing his head to sink down onto them. Releasing a weary sigh, he closed his eyes and listened to the faint sounds from the kitchen as they echoed around him. He could hear Gordon's voice - _huh, figures; if there's food Gordon's never gonna be far away_ - and the softer, sweeter lilt of Onaha's Malaysian accent drifting above the _'hiss'_ of the frying bacon and the sharp _'clinking'_ of plates.

He sensed that someone was standing behind him a split second before a gentle hand pressed against his back. Rolling his head to the side, Alan stared up at his older brother through half-lidded eyes. Virgil smiled at him warmly, leaning forwards to pull him upright and into a firm - albeit awkward, considering the fact that Alan was still sitting down - embrace.

"Hey, Sprout."

Alan smiled as they pulled apart, feeling Virgil's hand move up his back and come to rest on his shoulder. "Hey, Virge. Where've you been hiding?"

Virgil nodded towards the kitchen. "Onaha had coffee," he stated simply, hooking his foot around the leg of a nearby chair and pulling it closer so that he could sit down. Staring at his youngest sibling critically, he shook his head. "You look beat, kiddo."

Propping his head up in one hand, his elbow resting lazily against the place-mat, Alan sent his brother a tired grin. "Me? Nah. I'm ready for anything."

The middle Tracy scoffed. "The only thing you're ready for is bed."

To Alan's surprise, he felt himself nodding in agreement. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"Take a nap after breakfast," Virgil suggested, moving his hand up to ruffle his brother's hair. "You'll feel better after a few hours' sleep."

Groaning, the teenager pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed dramatically. "For the last time," he mumbled, "Alan Tracy does _not_ take naps."

"Yeah, you tell 'em, Squirt."

Glancing up towards the kitchen doorway, Alan smiled as he spotted his remaining sibling. With his patterned shirt unbuttoned, revealing the tanned, muscular chest beneath, and his copper hair damp - no doubt from swimming laps in the pool at the screech of dawn, as was his preference - Gordon looked exactly the way that Alan had left him at the end of Christmas break.

"Hey, Gordon," he greeted, his energy levels increasing a little as he stood up to accept a brief but heart-felt hug from his older brother. "Miss me?"

Gordon snorted. "What, are you kidding me? I _begged_ Dad to keep you away at school for a few more weeks, but he wouldn't listen to me." The two prank-loving Tracys grinned at each other and the red-head pulled Alan into a headlock, rubbing his knuckles into younger boy's scalp. "'Course I missed you, Sprout."

Alan elbowed him in the side and straightened up, running his fingers through his ruffled hair and only succeeding in making it stand even more on end. Gordon smirked at the sight, shaking his head and giving the teenager a gentle shove towards the kitchen.

"Go say hi to Onaha before she burns something," he suggested cheerfully. "She's dying to see you."

Smiling, Alan nodded slowly, making his way across the dining room and around the serving counter that stood a few metres in front of the door to the kitchen. Pausing in the doorway, he watched the motherly housekeeper silently for a long moment as she piled perfect caramel-brown pancakes onto a large plate, using her other hand to turn the bacon over in the frying pan on the stove.

In the midst of turning towards the large bowl of sliced mango to add in a bowl of what looked like red grapes, Onaha paused and glanced towards the door, doing a double take as her eyes locked onto Alan's still figure.

"Sweetheart, you're home!" she cried joyously, dropping whatever she was holding onto the work surface and hurrying across the kitchen towards him, wrapping him up in a gentle, loving embrace. Pressing a kiss against his forehead, she cupped his face in her hands and smiled, her eyes shining. "Oh Alan, it has been so quiet around the house without you here. But you will make up for it this weekend?"

Alan chuckled, nodding gently so that he wouldn't dislodge her hands. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Wonderful." Her eyes skimmed over his body and she released one hand, lowering it a little and poking his slim waist, shaking her head disapprovingly. "Where have you gone? Don't they feed you at these boarding schools?"

"Trust me, I eat enough," Alan assured her, smiling. "I just burn it all off running track."

Onaha shook her head again. "I need to put some more meat onto that body of yours. Are you hungry?"

"Starved."

"Good answer." She handed him a stack of plates and pointed towards the kitchen door. "Go put those on the table for me, sweetheart. And send your brothers in to collect the rest, it's time for breakfast."

Alan's stomach growled at the word and Onaha smiled again, giving him a gentle push towards the door. The sudden increase in speed made the world lurch to one side again and Alan stumbled slightly, leaning against the side of the work table that stood in the middle of the room, closing his eyes as the kitchen seemed to waver around him for a long, gut-churning moment. Shaking his head, he cursed his fatigue for all the problems it was causing him and straightened up, sparing a glance over his shoulder to make sure Onaha hadn't noticed his slip-up before continuing on towards the dining table.

His brothers had assembled in the spacious room, clearly sensing that the food was nearly ready. Alan set the plates down on the place-mat nearest to him and glanced about, a slight frown tugging at his brow.

"Where did Dad run off to this time?"

"He went to find Kyrano," Scott supplied casually, spinning a fork around on the mahogany table as he leaned sideways against one of the chairs. "He'll be back in a sec."

"Cool." Alan jerked his head towards the kitchen door on the other side of the room. "Onaha wants some help with the food, by the way."

"Help with food?" Gordon grinned. "I'm always available to help with food."

As his brothers made a beeline for the kitchen, Alan sat down in his chair at the table and sighed wearily. Despite the heavy fatigue that had settled itself over his limbs and the weird, foggy feeling that seemed to surround his brain, making thinking a particularly difficult task to achieve, he couldn't help but smile at the sense of peace he felt as he surveyed the familiar surroundings and listened drowsily to the heart-warming sound of his brothers' laughter as it echoed in through the door to the kitchen.

It was good to be home.

* * *

_**Keeping the pace steady at the mo, so sorry to all those who were hoping that the kid would sprout spots in this chapter. Not gonna happen just yet. But fear not, it'll get here eventually. Hope you enjoyed the installment all the same. :)**_

_**Review please!**_

_**xox  
**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**I'm on time! Haha! Take that, foul college homework!  
**_

_**Thanks for another awesome serving of tasty reviews. My muse found particular delight in consuming them one by one. Her appetite is truly satisfied and she wishes me to extend her sincerest gratitude towards her faithful - and fantastically wonderful - readers.  
**_

_**And a special thanks to 'Meghan' for the great feedback. I loved hearing from you. :)  
**_

_**Next chapter coming up.....  
**_

* * *

Alan stared at his bowl dully, slowly stirring its creamy contents with his spoon, watching the small lumps of onion and carrot toss and turn in the whirlpool he was creating. With his elbow resting against the edge of the table and his head propped up in one hand, he felt too comfortable to get up and go all the way into the kitchen to dispose of the cold soup. What he really wanted to do was go back to bed and sleep for another eight hours or so. But that wasn't an option right now.

Onaha had woken him up about forty-five minutes ago so that he could come down and have something to eat. Secretly he'd wanted to refuse, the weird churning sensation in his gut banishing whatever appetite he might have possessed. But saying 'no' to Onaha wasn't something you did if you wanted life to be easy. The motherly Malaysian housekeeper was a very determined woman.

And so that was why Alan now sat at the dining room table, playing with a bowl of cold vegetable soup - well, it _had_ been warm beforehand, he was sure of it, but that was a long time ago - and trying not to fall asleep. The invisible lead suit that seemed to be weighing down on his weary body had definitely grown heavier since he'd arrived home earlier that morning, making walking - and indeed, any form movement - an annoyingly strenuous task. At least the silence in the room was a blessing. He'd swiped a couple of Tylenol from the medicine cabinet in the infirmary on his way down to lunch, but they hadn't quite taken effect yet and the throbbing headache continued to pulse merrily behind his eyes. Life seriously sucked right now.

"So that's where you've been hiding."

The spoon clattered against the rim of the bowl as Alan started, pulled out of his weary daze in heart-lurching surprise. Glancing up towards the doorway that lead out into the corridor, his eyes locked onto the tall form of his eldest brother, the frantic beat of his heart pounding its adrenaline-powered protest in his ears as he blinked rapidly to banish the sleepy fuzziness from his vision.

Scott grinned at him cheerfully, arms crossed as he leaned against the door frame. "Hey, kiddo."

Alan forced a smile. "Hey. What's up?"

Scott shrugged, pushing himself away from the wall and stepping further into the room, coming to a halt on the other side of the dining table. Eying the remnants of Alan's meal with dubious expression, he raised an eyebrow.

"You still eating?"

"Well, you know me, always room for more," Alan bluffed casually, mildly impressed at his own acting ability. "I could eat this family outta house and home. Why d'you think Dad's always so desperate to keep me away at school?"

Chuckling, his older brother pulled a chair out from underneath the table, turning it around and sitting down, legs astride and arms perched atop the backrest as he leaned forwards to gaze at his younger sibling.

"Glad to see you back in the land of the living," Scott remarked, rubbing his jawline absently with the thumb of his right hand as he allowed his chin to rest against his folded arms.

Alan, his head still propped up in his hand, frowned slightly. "Speaking of which, what happened to the one o'clock wake-up call you promised me?"

The pilot shrugged again. "In my defence, I did come in and check on you," he reasoned. "But you were fast asleep. And you'd been so exhausted at breakfast, I didn't have the heart to wake you."

"Aw," Alan teased playfully. "You old softy, you."

The older Tracy grinned, shooting back a half-hearted, "Shut up."

A short silence fell between them and Alan shifted uncomfortably, the knowledge that he'd barely touched his food - a rare occurrence in the Tracy household - weighing heavily on his mind. And although he could've been imagining things, he was almost certain that Scott was scrutinizing him for it. Those cobalt-blue eyes had always been a source of comfort during Alan's childhood, but he also knew that their keen gaze missed nothing.

Raising his head from his hand, he lowered his left arm and reached out towards the half-eaten bagel that sat on the plate beside the soup bowl. Tearing off a chunk and trying to look casual about it - something he'd never consciously done before - he popped the bread into his mouth and leaned back in his chair, chewing silently as he let out another soft sigh. As he did so, Alan could've sworn that he saw Scott relax a little more into the chair.

Swallowing forcefully, the mouthful of dry bread feeling thick and solid as it slowly slipped down his esophagus, Alan drummed his fingers absently against the smooth, wooden surface of the mahogany table.

"What are you and the guys up to?" he asked lightly.

"We're working on something in the main silo," his brother replied, sitting up a little straighter and rotating his shoulders to ease the crick in his back.

"Working on what?"

Scott's eyes lit up, a small smile curling at his lips. "Can't tell you. It's a secret."

Alan raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Hey, it was Virgil's idea, not mine. Speaking of which," Scott stood to his feet, turning the chair around again and pushing it underneath the table, "I'd better get back down there before Virgil kills Gordon. They've been driving each other crazy all week and it's reaching breaking point - you know what they're like." He rested his hands on the back of the chair and smiled at the younger Tracy. "You nearly finished?"

Nodding, Alan waved a hand towards the dishes in front of him. "Yeah, I'm almost full."

"Awesome." Scott began to walk towards the door, glancing back over his shoulder as he spoke. "Once you're done here, take the elevator from the storage corridor and come join us in Two's silo, okay? We wanna show you something."

"Sure," Alan answered lightly, tearing off another chunk of bread as though he were intending to continue eating.

Scott grinned, pausing in the doorway. "Don't take too long."

The teenager smiled back. "I won't."

As his eldest brother disappeared off down the corridor, let the smile slide off his face, dropping the piece of bread back down onto the side plate with a heavy sigh. Raising his hands to his face, he wearily rubbed at his eyes, feeling the dull ache move to the centre of his forehead as he leaned forwards and rested his elbows against the tabletop. He was still tired. So, so tired. But how? He'd crawled into bed right after breakfast and slept for five hours straight. This couldn't possibly be simple fatigue. Maybe Jake and Mr. Daniels had been right.....maybe he _was_ sickening for something.

The unappetising smell of cold vegetable soup wafted up towards him and he grimaced, sitting back in his chair and reaching out to put the bowl of untouched soup on top of the side plate, moving the bagel over to make room. Standing slowly to his feet, he made his way into the kitchen, again finding that, with each step, he had to battle against an invisible force weighing him down. Frowning in annoyance, he set the plate down on the counter beside the sink, pressing his foot against the pedal of the trash can so that it opened its gaping mouth in eager expectation. Alan spared a quick glance over his shoulder before quickly tossing in the remaining half of his bagel.

It was a waste of food, he knew that. And even as tipped the soup down the waste disposal unit and turned on the tap to flush away the evidence, he could hear Onaha's disapproving voice ringing in his ears._ 'There are starving children in this world who would sell themselves for that meal...'_

Alan shook his head, leaning against the side of the sink. _They can have it, by all means. But if I try and eat anything else, I'll end up puking. Man, what the heck is wrong with me?_

Exhaling another weary sigh, he straightened up and turned around, eyes scanning the room briefly. His gaze caught on the transparent pot that sat beside the kettle on the far counter, glinting in the light of the afternoon sun that shone through the large window above the sink. As Alan turned his head to the side and the focus of the sun moved, the object almost seemed to wink at him. Then it registered.

_Coffee. Coffee means caffeine. Caffeine means energy._

He grinned. _Jackpot.  
_

Opening the cupboard above the sink, Alan grabbed a mug, setting it down quickly on the counter and wincing at the loud _'thunk'_ it made. Heading across to the coffee pot, he switched the device on and spared another glance towards the kitchen doorway. Although Onaha had stated that she had a lot of cleaning to finish in the east wing of the house, he knew from past experience that the housekeeper had a habit of walking into a room at the wrong moment.

It wasn't like he was banned from drinking coffee or anything. Quite the opposite, in fact. But drinking it at two-thirty in the afternoon was unheard of and if Onaha found out, questions _would_ be asked and....well, Alan could bluff his way out of an explanation under the piercing gazes of his father and brothers - John was the only exception to that rule - but Onaha was another matter entirely. He'd crumble within seconds and admit to everything, which would only lead to a catastrophic end for everybody.

Well - for him, at least.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Jeff had just finished his afternoon cup of coffee when the vid-comm icon at the bottom of the far right hand corner of the main computer screen on his desk began to flash, the speakers emitting quiet, frequent _'beeps'_ in an attempt to alert him to the incoming call. Glancing up from the stack of Tracy Industries reports he'd been trying to get finished, Jeff sighed, reaching across to press the hidden button on the underside of the monitor to open up the live connection to the space station.

Hiram Hackenbacker's face appeared on the screen, bright green eyes shining brightly from beneath thick-rimmed spectacles. In the background, the multicoloured lights of Thunderbird 5's monitoring equipment glowed cheerfully, a sure sign that everything was as it should be.

Jeff grinned, pushing away his empty coffee cup and leaning back in his chair.

"Hey Brains," he greeted warmly, twirling a pen absently between his fingers. "Anything to report?"

The scientist shook his head. "Nothing important. All systems are green and the w-w-planetary monitoring systems aren't picking up any irregularities. The tropical convergence zone shifted further over the equator last week, which is why we've been experiencing these, uh, st-st-strong wings over the Pacific. But most of the core Rossby waves have, uh, d-died down now, so we should be fine. I'll keep an eye on the weather systems all the same."

Nodding, Jeff smiled. "Thanks, Brains. So," he tapped the pen against the stack of reports, "what can I do for you?"

"Mr. Tracy..." the younger man trailed off, his expression becoming serious as he glanced down momentarily and let out a heavy sigh. "Jeff, there's something you should probably see."

Feeling an uncomfortable sense of foreboding building up with him, Jeff set down his pen and sat up a little straighter.

"What is it?"

Shaking his head again, Brains began pressing buttons on the control panel in front of him, his brow furrowed. "I'm sending you a l-l-link to a news page on the, uh, the Internet. The filter picked it up about an hour ago. It's not really something I can describe, you need to ch-ch-look at it yourself."

"I see." Jeff watched as a small icon popped up on the second screen at the other end of his desk, feeling a frown tugging at his brow. He didn't like the sound of this.

Suddenly, a louder _'beep'_ echoed over the live feed, originating from the monitor in front of Brains on-board the space station. The bespectacled genius glanced at something offscreen, his face lighting up as a smile graced his features. Despite his own concerns, Jeff couldn't help but grin.

"Fermat?" he guessed lightly.

Brains sent his employer and close friend a pleading glance. "Mr. Tracy, would I be able to-"

"Of course, Hiram," Jeff chuckled softly, waving a hand dismissively. "I'll call back later. Tell Fermat I said hi."

"Will do," Brains replied, nodding his head once in confirmation. He paused for a moment to regard the Tracy patriarch steadily, a serious expression passing over his face. "About the, uh, news page....it's probably n-n-nothing important. I just thought that - considering your views on the, uh, the media - you'd want to know before it g-got out of hand."

Reaching out towards the button on the bottom of the screen, Jeff forced a smile. "Thanks, Brains. I'll take a look, don't worry. Base out."

With a soft _'buzz'_, the call was terminated and the image flicked back to his normal desktop screen, the _'Page Alert'_ icon from the other computer monitor transferring in a second to the screen in front of him, flashing ominously....almost as though it were daring Jeff to click on it.

The Tracy father sighed and readied himself for whatever the media were about to accuse him of, simultaneously probing his memory and trying to work out which of his recent activities they had decided to criticise. He hadn't made any major management decisions over the past month, nor had he returned to the mainland since that series of conferences in Japan a few weeks ago. Perhaps it was something one of his contractors had done? Whenever a neighbouring company made a foolish decision, the media always liked to place the blame on him. It sold faster if the headlines bore his name.

Taking his stylus from the holder beside the monitor, Jeff gently tapped the icon, blinking as a bright page popped up onto the screen. Jeff puffed out a long-suffering sigh. It was an ATM web page; their logo at the top left hand corner of the screen was highlighted by a ring of flashing cameras. They were probably the most 'gossipy' of the official media companies. They'd given him trouble in previous years, particularly when he'd funded the emergency health care project in Peru following the series of sever floods and landslides that the country had suffered through after a particularly heavy season of rain. Apparently, ATM didn't believe that a man could be rich _and_ charitable. They'd spent months accusing him of having an ulterior motive. But they'd backed down eventually when they realised that he wasn't going to retaliate. The press got bored too easily.

Reading a particularly large headline - '_Popstar Quits Career: Testicular Cancer To Blame?'_ - Jeff grimaced and scrolled downwards.

_What a load of trash._

He continued to sift through the web page, scanning the short paragraphs for any sign of the name 'Tracy' and resisting the urge to close down the tab and return to his Tracy Industries paperwork. He'd made it about halfway through the _'Headline News_' section before he came across a photograph that made his breath catch in his throat. Eyes widening, he stared at the screen in shock for a long moment, the loud _'thump'_ of his heart sounding overly loud as it pulsed in his ears.

The photograph was of high quality, almost filling the screen, a short article running down the left hand side of the image and smaller thumbnail images posted directly beneath it. It hadn't been a haphazard shot. This was the work of a professional.

It was an image of Jeff's youngest son.

Alan sat perched on a low wall that seemed to border off a small, tropical flowerbed. Bent forwards with one elbow resting against his knee, his hand pressed against his forehead to prop his head up, Alan's features were exposed in detail to the accurate focus of the camera. In the dim light of what Jeff knew was the early morning, the teenager looked terrible. The blond Tracy wore a pained grimace, his eyes closed and his free hand hanging limply between his knees, the large bags beneath his eyes standing out in contrast against the slight pallor of his skin.

Jeff frowned worriedly. _You don't look so good, kiddo.  
_

In the brief article that ran alongside the caption, the reporter seemed to express similar views. Of course, she - Martha Stuarts, if the small thumbnail of the smiling botox-sculpted female beneath the text was anything to go by - was blaming Jeff for being irresponsible and allowing Alan to travel in such a state of ill health. Jeff resisted the urge to put his fist through the screen, instead reaching across to tap the small red box in the corner of the web page, banishing the image and its unpleasant comments from sight.

Frowning, Jeff rested his chin atop his interlocked fingers and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. _Something's not right here. There's a fire alarm at a relatively normal and unimportant hotel where my boys are staying overnight, and an ATM photographer just **happens** to be standing nearby with his camera at the ready when the patrons file out into the parking lot. This has 'setup' written all over it. I have a feeling that the hotel employee responsible for all this wasn't drunk at all - I'm willing to bet that ATM paid him a small fortune to set off the alarm so that John and Alan could be photographed out in the open. Well guess what, Martha.....you picked the wrong daddy to mess with._

He was about to reach for the intercom switch again so that he could send a call to his lawyer in New York, when he paused, his gaze caught on the smiling picture of his youngest son that sat in the silver frame beside the far computer monitor. Dripping wet and grinning, Gordon's arm slung around his shoulder as the two brothers sat perched on the edge of the boat, the young teenager seemed like the happiest boy in the world. It was a glaring contrast in comparison with the boy in the ATM photograph.

Knowing that he wouldn't feel satisfied until the matter was settled, Jeff reached across his desk, pressing the intercom button on the base of his pen tidy. Inputting Scott's code, he leaned further forwards so that he was closer to the tiny hidden microphone, rubbing at his chin absently, the concerned frown still in place.

Sure, the fire alarm had sounded at four-thirty in the morning - which, for a teenager already suffering from the effects of jet-lag, must've been a wearying experience - but that didn't explain the pained grimace or the pallor of his skin. Jeff just needed to check that everything was alright. And if his youngest son was sick, Scott would know. You couldn't hide _anything_ from that boy.

Pressing his fist against his mouth and leaning his elbow on the edge of the desk, Jeff sighed heavily, waiting for Scott to answer the call.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Feeling more awake than he'd felt all day - which wasn't really saying much - Alan ran a hand through his hair and sighed, tapping his foot impatiently as the elevator slowly made its way down to Thunderbird 2's silo. The hot coffee had certainly given him a teeny-tiny boost of much needed energy, but it hadn't helped him in any other respects. In fact, it had made his headache a little worse. But he could live with that. As long as whatever his brothers wanted to show him wasn't going to make a ruckus, he'd be fine.

As the soft _'ping'_ of the elevator announced his arrival, Alan sighed and straightened up, moving forwards as the doors slid open in front of him. Stepping into the silo, he was hit by a wall of cool air and he shivered, having forgotten the fact that temperature was always significantly lower down here. But, considering the scorching afternoon heat that had been forecast for their area of the Pacific, perhaps that was a good thing.

Suddenly, he saw a blur of copper flash by out of the corner of his eye, a split second before to hands clapped down on his shoulders from behind.

"Gotcha!"

Careering to the side, Alan leaned a hand against the flat surface of a nearby communications panel and bent forwards, breathing heavily, his heart thumping a rapid tattoo in his chest from the unexpected shock. Glaring at the laughing figure in front of him, he reached out and roughly thumped his brother on the arm.

"Gordon, you jerk, you scared the crap outta me!"

This only seemed to delight the copper-haired Tracy all the more. Taking a mock bow, he waved a hand as though accepting applause. "Thank you, thank you."

Unamused, Alan crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the communications panel in what he hoped was a casual manner as he tried to stop the world from spinning. Sure, the sudden rush of adrenaline had given him another boost of energy, but his sense of balance was going to suffer the consequences.

"Ah, c'mon," Gordon wrapped an arm around his shoulders and rubbed his knuckles into the teenager's scalp, "where's your sense of humour? You should've seen your face, kid." He pulled a horrified expression, apparently reenacting the moment, before clapping Alan on the back and laughing again. "Totally priceless."

Sighing, Alan managed a small - a_ very, very_ small - smile. "Okay fine, you got me. Thirty-fifteen."

"Cha-ching!" Gordon punched his fist out and brought it back towards his chest in one smooth motion. "Winner!"

"Nope," Alan began walking away, further into the silo, "you still need two more scores before you win the match. You haven't won Super Shock in years, Gordo, I'm not gonna give you the satisfaction of beating me this time. Not now, not ever."

Gordon jogged after him, grabbing him by the arm and tugging firmly so that Alan came to a halt. The younger teenager swung round with a long-suffering sigh.

"What?"

"Scott told you to come down here, right?" Gordon queried, bright green eyes dancing merrily.

Alan nodded. "Yeah. But he didn't say why."

"That's because," the aquanaut stuck his hand in the pocket of his shorts and pulled out a pink silk scarf, "it's a secret."

Eyes widening, Alan stared at the item of clothing as though it were a venomous snake. "What the hell is that?"

"What, this?" Gordon held up the scarf. At Alan's nod, he raised an eyebrow. "Geez, kiddo, I knew you weren't the most intelligent specimen we'd ever come across, but this really takes the biscuit." He waved it in Alan's face, smirking as the younger boy jerked to the side to avoid contact with the soft material. "It's a scarf, Al, what does it look like?"

"Where the heck did you get a pink scarf from?" the blond Tracy demanded incredulously. "And why was it in your pocket?"

Gordon turned the younger boy around. "It's Tin-Tin's," he began calmly.

Alan spun back towards him. "Why'd you steal her scarf?"

Sighing, the older Tracy planted his hands on his brother's shoulders and forcefully rotated him back around again. "Chillax, Sprout, I asked her permission first. We needed a blindfold."

"Blindfold?" Alan reached up as the silky material was placed over his eyes, frowning when the Olympic Gold medalist lightly slapped his hands away. "Gordon, what the f- Ow!"

"Language," his brother warned softly.

Alan winced as his head throbbed mightily. It wasn't entirely his brother's fault - the light cuff hadn't really been enough to hurt him - but the sudden impact had reignited the painful ache in the centre of his skull. And with Gordon tightening the blindfold, the pressure around his eyes was beginning to increase rapidly.

"There," his older sibling sighed in satisfaction, "that should do it. You ready?"

Feeling a little disorientated at his total lack of vision, Alan nodded, taking a tentative step forwards. "How exactly am I supposed to get to wherever I'm supposed to be going?"

A hand wrapped around his wrist, a long arm snaking itself around his lower back. "I'll guide you."

"Oh, great," Alan scoffed sarcastically, trying to work out which way was up and which way was down so that he wouldn't end up on his ass again. It was the strangest sensation, feeling the world spinning around you but being unable to see it. "Now, why doesn't that inspire me with confidence?"

"C'mon, kiddo, I gotcha covered. It'll be just like the little 'trust' exercise thing Tom got us to do last Christmas, remember?"

Certain that his vision would be impaired forever - Gordon had tied the scarf way too tight - Alan attempted to frown. When doing so produced too much pressure around his eyes, he opted for sighing heavily. "Gordon, need I remind you that you went and lost Virgil in the jungle....and _he_ was the one wearing the blindfold!"

"So maybe there were a few hiccups," the disembodied voice agreed lightly. "But we still had fun, right?"

"He ended up on the other side of the island!" the youngest Tracy protested, taking a larger stride and whacking his shin against something hard. "Ow!"

"Oops, my bad. Sorry."

Righting himself and continuing forwards, Alan pressed, "He could've fallen off a cliff!"

He heard Gordon sigh close to his ear. "Well, if he'd done the smart thing and taken off his blindfold, everything would've turned out okay."

"And then you guys would've had to forfeit for breaking the 'trust' rules," Alan argued, grunting as his tripped over Gordon's foot. "And of _course_ he wasn't going to break the rules, Gordo - this is _Virgil_ we're talking about."

"Um, Alan-"

"I mean c'mon," the teenager continued, feeling a waft of cold air blow into his face and sighing in relief as it cooled his warm skin; it was _way_ too hot down here to be wearing a scarf. "The guy's so stiff, you could use him as a ruler."

They had come to a halt and Alan could sense something in the atmosphere surrounding him. Swallowing heavily, he turned to where he knew Gordon was standing and grimaced. "He's standing right in front of me, isn't he?"

"Yup." This was Virgil, his voice so clear that Alan knew he must be less than a foot away. The teenager forced a cheery smile.

"You know that I love you, right?"

He felt Virgil's hands on his shoulders, turning him around and pushing him down to sit on something hard and uncomfortable.

"Uh-huh," the pianist agreed, his voice lightly amused as the hand moved up to tousle his hair playfully.

Alan breathed a sigh of relief, reaching up to touch the constricting silky fabric around his eyes. "Can I take this off now?"

"Sure." This was John, coming from somewhere over on Alan's left.

Raising his hands to the back of his head, Alan fumbled with the knot, wincing as every tug pulled on the already too tight blindfold, an ache growing in his shoulders as seconds passed by and he tugged without success. Dropping his hands, he let out a frustrated sigh.

"Guys? A little help?"

A pair of hands began working on the knot at the back of his head and he tapped his foot against the floor absently, feeling the object he was sitting on with the tips of his fingers. It was wooden and box-shaped, so he guessed it was a small crate. Brains was continually importing new materials and components for his inventions, so crates of all shapes and sizes were forever appearing in different areas around Tracy island. They had always been a source of amusement when Alan had been younger. A house, a car, a horse, a battleship....so much potential in such an ordinary object. A part of Alan missed those days, back when the world was one big playground and bad guys were just fictional characters in the bedtime stories your dad read to you when you were safely tucked up under the duvet at night.

A sharp pain around his eyes made him grunt, raising a hand to the tight material wrapped around his head. "Dude, that hurts."

"Sorry, kid," Virgil muttered from behind him, but the tugging continued. "This thing's on pretty tight. Dammit, Gordon, we asked you to blindfold him, not _blind_ him."

"Well _sorry_, Your Highness," Gordon shot back, his voice growing louder as he approached the crate. "They didn't really give 'Blindfold 101' classes at school."

"Hey, cool it," Scott ordered, his voice originating from somewhere to Alan's right.

"I will," Virgil grunted, tugging a little harder at the knot. Alan grimaced. "As - soon - as - I - get - this - damn - thing....Aha! Gotcha!"

The scarf was loosened and Alan reached up, pulling the garment away from his stinging eyes gratefully. However, the moment the blindfold fell away, pain shot through his temples and his retinas burned, unaccustomed to the bright light of the silo. Dropping his gaze, he squinted at the floor and blinked rapidly. He felt Virgil's hand squeeze his shoulder.

"You okay, Al?"

"Yeah." Alan raised his head, still squinting, managing a pained smile as he rubbed a hand down his face. "Thanks, Virge. Remind me _never_ to trust Gordon again."

Gordon sat down on the edge of the crate beside him, grinning cheerfully as he clapped him on the shoulder. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sprout. I'll definitely take it into consideration the next time I plan a major prank."

Shaking his head, Alan turned away and looked towards John, opening his mouth to ask what the secret was. However, he paused, his mouth hanging slightly open, as his eyes fell on the large object sitting a few feet in front of him. It looked _awesome_.

"Is that what I think it is?"

John chuckled, standing up off the large metal toolbox he'd been sitting on. "Probably....if you're thinking that it's a slipstream hover-bike."

Alan beamed. "Slipstream?" Surely that wasn't his voice - he'd just lost five years of testosterone.

The teenager looked at the vehicle again, leaning forwards and studying it carefully. Brains had mentioned the idea to him a few months ago, but it had all been theory back then. But this - this looked just like the blueprints he'd seen on the scientist's drawing board. It was the same length as a regular hover-sled, but the style was completely different. It was sleeker, less bulky, built for speed and maneuverability instead of equipment transportation. The other hover-sleds all had the large storage area at the back, but not this one. She was _gorgeous._

"My, what big eyes you have," Scott teased, walking up to where he sat and giving him a gentle shove so that he hopped off the crate and stepped towards the vehicle. "Go take a look, Sprout, we know how much you're dying to check her out."

Dropping to his knees beside the bike and momentarily forgetting about the pounding pressure behind his eyes, Alan ran his fingers over the sealed panel on the side of the vehicle, frowning in disappointment when he realised that it had been screwed back into place.

"Here."

Glancing up, he looked at the object that Virgil was extending out to him and grinned excitedly, swiping it from his brother's grasp and eagerly beginning to unscrew the tiny bolts, for once not minding the laughter his siblings were sharing at his expense. They all had their own nerdy passions, it was nothing to be ashamed of. For Scott it was anything that moved at speeds greater than sixty miles per hour; John was obsessed with all things space-related, math-related, book-related or....well, the list was too extensive, he was just an all-round nerd; for Virgil it was art, music and anything electrical; and when it came to Gordon, he just loved the water and everything that happened to live in it - himself included.

And Alan? Well, Alan had been fond of cars and motorbikes since he was old enough to crawl. According to his family, his first word after 'Mama' and 'Dada' had been "Vroom!". So his brothers had always predicted that someday, he'd be fond of motor vehicles.

Or vacuum cleaners, whichever he preferred.

Scott smiled, watching as Alan eagerly pulled away the outer panel and looked at the engine within, eyes widening with glee as he ran his fingers along the internal piping. Letting out a fond chuckle, the eldest Tracy son leaned against the wall of the silo, gazing out across the vast room. On the far side, atop the giant metal rotation plate, sat Thunderbird 2, her shiny green exterior glinting merrily in the overhead lights. Alongside her sat the various Thunderbird rescue machines, looking magnificent in their own right but somewhat pathetic in comparison with the enormity of the main aircraft.

Shaking his head, the pilot smirked. _So yeah, she's big. But she can't even do half One's speed. My baby's ten times better than you'll ever be, Greenfly._

He jumped as he felt his watch begin to vibrate. Raising his left arm automatically, he glanced down at the large digital face, noticing that all five lights were flashing simultaneously.

"Scott?"

His brothers - with the exception of Alan - were looking at him in concern. Shrugging, he began to walk further away from the group. "It's Dad. He's probably wondering where we all are. Gimme a sec."

When he was far away enough not to be heard - over next to the Firefly - he raised his arm again, pressing the centre of the watch face and holding it down for two seconds. Releasing it, he brought the gadget closer to his mouth.

"Scott here."

_"Hey, Son. Where abouts are you?"_

"We're in Two's silo," the field commander replied running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the side of the rescue vehicle. "We're showing Alan the new hover-bike. Why? Is everything okay up there?"

He heard his father sigh. There was a brief pause before Jeff asked, tentatively, _"Scott? Is your brother....does he seem normal to you?"_

Scott let out a bark of laughter. "Dad, none of us are normal."

_"Perhaps not,"_ Jeff agreed, and Scott was glad to hear the humour in his voice. _"But Alan....he doesn't look unusually pale to you, does he?"_

Feeling an uncomfortable ball of concern working its way up his chest, Scott glanced back towards the group assembled around the hover-bike, he eyes studying his youngest sibling carefully. "No, not really," he answered slowly. "I was actually thinking that he looked pretty flushed earlier, but I put it down to the weather. He _has_ been acting a little out of sorts today, though. I was contemplating mentioning it to John to see if he'd noticed anything, but I haven't had a chance to talk to him alone yet. Why? Dad, is there something I should know about?"

His father sighed again. _"I honestly don't know, Scotty. Maybe he's just tired. But he looked so..."_

"So what? Dad, what's this about?"

_"It doesn't matter. You'll keep an eye on him for me, won't you?"_ Jeff pressed.

Scott frowned worriedly, glancing back towards his siblings. "Sure." He shook his head. "Dad, seriously, what's going in? Has something happened? You're getting stressed and I don't know why."

_"Just a little media trouble,"_ the Tracy patriarch stated softly. _"Don't worry, it's nothing I can't handle. Look, forget what I said, I'm just having one of those days. You boys have a good afternoon."_

"Okay." Scott scratched his chin absently, still frowning. "Thanks. See you later."

_"Sure thing. Jeff out."_

The line cut with a soft _'click'_ and the five tiny lights ceased to glow, leaving Scott staring at the normal-looking watch in confusion and concern. He knew his father hated the media and all the crap they posted about Tracy Industries, but he never usually let it get to him like this. He sounded stressed. His dad didn't stress unless he was worried about the family. And his concern over Alan - what had brought that on? Sure, the kid had been looking a little tired recently, but the grin on his face when he'd seen the hover-bike was pure Alan Tracy.

_'Still,'_ Scott sighed inwardly, glancing back towards where his younger brother was now talking animatedly with Virgil about the internal mainframe of the bike, _'it won't hurt to keep a closer eye on him. But he's probably just tired. An afternoon spent racing the bike along the runway and he'll be as lively and energetic as ever.'_

Pushing himself away from the Firefly, Scott headed back towards the group, unable to shake the uneasy feeling that had settled itself in the pit of his stomach, telling him that something wasn't quite right with his younger brother.

* * *

_**Voila! Hope you enjoyed reading the chapter. Again, reviews are much appreciated and motivate my creativity. :)**_

_**Many thanks to Ruth for the Geographical lingo - I'm not into that kind of science and had no idea where to start. Weather systems just aren't my forte. Give me the human nervous system any day. *grins***_

_**Have a great week!**_

_**xox  
**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Two on-time updates in a row! Cha-ching! :)**_

_**Fantastically awesome reviews as always, dear readers. Thanks for taking the time to post such positive and helpful feedback. Last week was a little tough, and it wasn't just caused by an overload of college work. Sick babies, stolen mobile phones and absent parents resulted in a rather weary and disheveled Little Miss Bump. All your helpful comments were loved and appreciated, they gave me that much needed boost of oomph. Oomph is good.  
**_

_**Well, you've waited patiently for seven days, so I won't deprive you of your Tracy fix. Read on and enjoy...  
**_

_**

* * *

**_

Cheeks burning and head spinning, Alan pressed himself against his door, pushing it closed with a soft _'thud'_ that sent white-hot bullets of pain shooting through his aching skull. The room seemed overly warm - stuffy, even - hazy in the light of the afternoon sun that percolated through the thin fabric of the still-closed blue drapes. The sound of his own breathing and the constant beat of his hammering heart were amplified by the hot and heavy silence around him, the soft _'whoosh'_ of blood pumping in his ears creating an endless, timeless torment of noise.

There was no way he was going to be able to brush this off as 'just being tired'. Not after what had happened in the silo

He'd stuck around at the entrance to the runway for over an hour, listening to his siblings' lively chatter and watching as the older, more energetic Tracys zoomed up and down the long stretch of asphalt on the hover-bike, testing out its improved speed and maneuverability. But all too soon, Alan's turn for a spin on the prototype had arrived. Everything had been going swimmingly up until that point, the excitement over the new vehicle having somewhat suppressed the symptoms Alan had been experiencing since he'd first awoken from his morning nap - no, his _siesta_.

But that had all changed once he'd set off down the runway. Maybe it had been the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he exceeded the usual speed limit, or it could've been the scorching heat outside as the sun glared down at him from above, or perhaps it had been down to the poor ventilation in the uncomfortably tight crash helmet; he wasn't sure. All that he knew was that when he'd left the silo, he'd felt a little rough....and when he'd returned after five minutes of high-speed racing, he'd felt as though he'd just run a marathon in the Sahara desert. Without water.

Using the excuse that he needed to use the bathroom, he'd left the silo in a somewhat disorientated state, having to muster up all his energy just to walk in a straight line. And even as he'd departed towards the elevator, he'd caught sight of the way that Scott and John looked at him, the two older Tracys sharing concerned glances as he stumbled away. And although he hadn't been able to see Virgil from the angle of his departure, he'd _felt_ the middle Tracy's gaze following him across the silo. And if Gordon hadn't been messing around with the blindfold, he probably would've behaved in a similar fashion upon seeing Alan's physical state of health.

Alan knew they were worried. Hell, he was worried too.

_I haven't felt this bad since......well, since last year, I guess. But it can't be anything that serious. Not again. You only get Scarlet Fever once, right? I'm sure that's what Virgil said. Besides, my throat's not even sore. That's one of the main symptoms....I think. No, it's nothing, it's just a stomach bug or the flu or something. I'll be fine.  
_

Kicking off his shoes, leaning against his closet for support, Alan reached down and unbuttoned his shorts with cold, shaking fingers. He felt so _strange_. He wasn't in pain, and yet he was, an odd weight pulling down on every cell in his body. And his stomach didn't seem to be able to decide whether it wanted to churn nauseatingly or drop like a cold block of lead. The sensation was disturbing to say the least.

Throwing his shorts onto the chest of drawers nearby, he pressed his cheek against the refreshingly cool wooden surface of the closet, closing his stinging eyes and sighing wearily. It was so _warm_ in here. He'd never be able to sleep like this.

Slowly making his way over to his desk, he leaned against it unsteadily, reaching out towards the panel on the back wall. The computerised thermostat usually kept every room at a comfortably cool temperature, but sometimes - particularly on scorching hot days such as this - it needed that extra little prod of encouragement. Lowering the temperature manually was hardly a strenuous task, and the results would definitely be worth the added exertion.

Satisfied that the temperature of the room would reach bearable levels soon enough, Alan turned towards his bed, the weariness in his limbs urging him to take the short trip across the room and over to the attractive object. He _really_ needed to sleep.....

Suddenly, Alan felt his arm begin to tingle as his wrist communicator started to vibrate, the small blue light at the top of the watch face flashing on and off repeatedly. With a resigned sigh - the call was hardly unexpected - Alan pulled out his desk chair and sat down heavily, raising his arm and pressing the centre of the watch with his index finger, holding it down for a couple of seconds before releasing it and clearing his throat.

"Hey, Scott." _Well, at least that sounded vaguely cheerful._ "What's up?"

_"Alan? Hey, we were just wondering whether you were gonna come back down and join us?"_

Alan grimaced, running his fingers through his hair absently as he tried to think of the best way in which to phrase his answer.

"Actually," he began, pressing a fist against the centre of his forehead in an attempt to alleviate the painful pressure headache, "I'm kinda tired. I think I'm gonna get some more sleep. You guys go ahead without me."

There was a brief pause then, softly _"Is everything okay?"_

"Yeah," Alan replied in what he hoped was a breezy manner. "Why?"

_"You haven't been yourself recently."_ Scott sounded concerned. _"And I think we both know that it isn't just jet-lag."  
_

Biting back another sigh, Alan frowned down at the watch. Scott had played this card numerous times in the past, so he knew how the routine went. His eldest brother would use indirect questions to get Alan to admit to whatever was wrong with him. And the youngest Tracy wasn't quite sure what annoyed him most; Scott's stubborn persistence or the fact that his resolve was beginning to crumble beneath it.

"Seriously, Scotty, you're reading way too much into this," he answered calmly. "I'm fine, really."

_"You sure?"_ his brother pressed, and Alan could almost picture Scott's cobalt-blue eyes giving him _that_ look; the one that always weakened his defences and made him hold up a white flag of reluctant surrender.

"Scott, I'm _fine_," the teenager repeated, even as he closed his eyes against another stab of pain through his temples.

_"You didn't **look** so fine ten minutes ago-"_

"Scott." His patience was wearing thin - being sick did that to a guy. He let out a heavy sigh. "Look, just forget about it, okay? Nothing's wrong. I just need to sleep it off. I'll see you at dinner."

_"Alan, would you just-"_

Pressing the button on the side of the wrist communicator, Alan ended the call, successfully cutting his older sibling off mid-sentence. Sure, that would only infuriate his brother into a whole new level of worry-fueled anger, but he'd deal with that hurricane when it arrived. Right now, all that he wanted to do was sleep.

Weak and shaky, yet frustratingly alert enough to take note of every tiny sound that his sock-clad feet created as he slowly made his way across the room and over to his bed, he tried to blink away the stinging moisture from his eyes.

Sinking down onto the soft mattress, he let out a weary sigh, laying down on his side atop the covers and pressing his hot face against the cool material of the pillow. He felt miserable.

_This isn't fair. I don't wanna get sick, not now. The first weekend home in almost two months and I'm gonna spend most of it feeling like toasted crap. Couldn't it at least have waited until the chemistry quiz on Tuesday? Maybe I wouldn't have minded it so much. Sure, the hospital wing at school is almost as bad as the real thing, but....but at least that'd be in school time. This weekend was supposed to be my chance to catch up with the guys. What the heck am I supposed to do now?  
_

His life totally sucked.

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Scott paused, his knuckles centimetres away from the wooden door to Alan's bedroom. Part of him - the big brother bear who wanted to make sure that his youngest sibling was okay and smother the kid with comfort and attention if he wasn't - was urging him to summon up the will to knock on the closed door. He'd done it before countless times in the past, it was practically an integrated programme in his big brother matrix. Doing it again would hardly be uncharacteristic.

But there was a teeny-tiny voice in the back of his mind that was arguing against the more dominant brotherly force, reminding him that Alan wasn't a little kid anymore. And at the age of fifteen - _nearly sixteen, actually....geez, he's growing up fast_ - Alan wouldn't take too kindly to being smothered. Again. He was a teenager, his aim in life was to seek independence. Besides, you could hardly blame the kid for being so ridiculously stubborn, it was an unfortunate characteristic that all the Tracys (Scott included) had inherited from both their parents.

However, try as he might, Scott couldn't help but worry. He was protective over every member of the Tracy clan, but just a little more so when it came to Alan. It was hard not to be, considering the fact that he'd practically raised the kid for a year or so after the death of his mother. With his father burying himself so deep in work that anything outside of his office just didn't register home, Scott hadn't exactly been given much of a choice. Of course, that had all changed after they'd moved to the island. What with Alan and Gordon nearly getting themselves killed during a tropical thunderstorm - and man, those things could be pretty ferocious - the realisation that he'd almost lost one of his precious children had jolted Jeff back into reality. He'd lifted the weight of responsibility from Scott's shoulders and everything had fallen back into place within the Tracy household.

Well, close enough. Scott had never quite been able to shrug that parent-like roll he'd been so rapidly forced into - at least, not when it came to Alan. The kid was Scott's baby brother and yet, in a way, he was something more. Something that Scott would never be able to put into words. But there was definitely a deeper connection between the two of them, one that went beyond the bonds of brotherhood. It wasn't that he loved his other brothers any less, it was just - different. There really wasn't any other way of putting it.

_And that's why I can't just stand by and wait for the kid to collapse again. Screw personal space and teenage pride, if the kid's sick then it's not gonna matter anyway. Virge'll be on him with a stethoscope before he can say 'achoo'._

His mind made up, Scott drew back his hand and rapped his knuckles against the wood of the door, moving to grasp the handle as he leaned forwards.

"Alan? It's Scott. Can I come in?"

There was a short pause then, muffled by the door, a groaned, "Fine."

Turning the handle and pushing the door open, Scott tried to stop the uncomfortable sense of déjà vu from overwhelming him. Just over nine months ago, he'd been in a similar position and had entered Alan's room to find the teenager disorientated and running a high fever, which they had later discovered to be the result of a mutated strain of Scarlet Fever that the youngest Tracy had contracted from an infected hospital patient during a rescue mission. Alan's stubborn refusal to admit to the early symptoms of the virus had lead to serious repercussions later on. And Scott had sworn never to let it happen to his little brother again. Which is why he wasn't going to let it happen now.

Stepping into the room, Scott froze, the hairs on his arms standing on end as a wall of cold air hit him. Glancing across to where Alan lay on top of the bed on the other side of the room, he blinked in surprised confusion.

"Kid, it's like a fridge in here," he stated, kicking the door closed behind him out of habit and striding over to the temperature control panel on the wall behind the desk. "What did you do?"

Alan, one arm hidden beneath his pillow as he lay on his side facing the door, gave a slight shrug. "It was too stuffy," the teenager mumbled groggily. "Besides, I think that thing's bust, it's nowhere near as cool as I'd wanted."

Frowning at the setting his brother had changed it to, Scott raised an incredulous eyebrow and reached out to reset it. "Trust me, Sprout, it is."

Satisfied that a warmer temperature would soon be established, Scott turned back towards the bed and frowned, studying his younger brother carefully. Alan looked exhausted, the dark rings around his eyes more prominent than they had been earlier, highlighted somewhat by the paler skin that stood out in contrast to the pink flush that covered the boy's cheeks.

_Damn, Scott, you're getting rusty. You shoulda noticed this the minute the kid woke up._

Walking across the room, dragging Alan's desk chair with him, the eldest Tracy son came to a halt at the top end of the bed, rotating the chair so that it faced Alan before sitting down with a heavy sigh and leaning back, gazing at the teenager silently. Alan frowned up at him through sleepy, half-lidded eyes.

"What?"

The twenty-six-year-old didn't reply and instead crossed his arms over his chest, watching him steadily.

Alan's brow furrowed all the more. "Dude, what?"

Scott continued to stare at him unblinkingly, never once breaking eye contact, his expression calm and emotionless. After about thirty seconds of silence, Alan let out a groan, rolling over onto his back and huffing out a heavy sigh.

"Okay, you win," he mumbled reluctantly. "Enough with the creepy eyes already."

Satisfied, Scott nodded his head once and leaned forwards in the chair, his eyes remaining fixed on his younger sibling as his face grew serious. The worry and concern that had been mounting up in his chest seriously needed an outlet, but this wasn't something he could rush. Sure, Alan had admitted defeat and taken down his defences, but he still had to handle things carefully. Getting an answer out of his younger brother was like juggling with land mines; the smallest slip could cause a catastrophic explosion.

Although, looking at Alan now, perhaps that wouldn't be the case. His brother had always been vulnerable when he was tired. But then again, the teenager was also known to be rather temperamental when he wasn't feeling so good, which is why Gordon had always joked that Alan should come with a warning: 'Explosive risk, proceed with caution.'

Smiling at the old family joke, Scott let out a sigh and brought himself out of his reverie, glancing back down towards his little brother. Tilting his head to the side, he gazed at the blond-haired teen in tender sympathy.

"How long've you been feeling like this, kiddo?"

Alan gave a half-shrug and shifted his gaze to stare up at the ceiling. "Dunno. Couple of days, I guess. Got worse this morning, but I thought it was just lack of sleep, ya know?"

Scott nodded again, reaching out to press his left hand against Alan's forehead, pushing back the fringe as he did so. And instead of moving away or protesting like he had expected his younger brother to do, the teenager merely let out another sigh and closed his eyes wearily. Scott frowned again, feeling the heat radiate back against his palm and fingers. The skin was definitely warmer than it should've been.

Brushing the hand away from the forehead and over his brother's hair, he shook his head slowly.

"You should've told me about this earlier, Alan." Scott's tone was gentle, but it had a disapproving edge to it that made Alan's insides churn guiltily.

Letting out a sigh, the teenager stared at the ceiling miserably. "I know," he murmured, his left hand playing with the sheets as he shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, okay? I just....I guess I was kinda hoping that I'd be able to sleep it off. It wasn't so bad earlier this morning. And you guys seemed really excited about going bouldering tomorrow, I didn't wanna spoil it."

Scott sighed again. "Alan, d'you really think we care about bouldering more than we care about you? C'mon, I mean seriously?"

A slight smile tugged at the teenager's mouth and he shifted his gaze to the far wall, mumbling a barely audible, "I guess not."

"Kid," Scott shook his head, "if you weren't sick, I'd..."

Alan looked up at him then, an eyebrow raised questioningly. "You'd what?"

The field commander reached out to ruffle Alan's hair. "I'd stick you on checklist duty for the rest of your miserable life, that's what I'd do," he grumbled, his voice rough yet with an underlying fondness that made Alan smile.

"Wow. Never thought I'd be so glad to be sick."

Scott smiled softly, leaning forwards in his seat again and pressing the back of his hand against Alan's cheek as he looked into the blond Tracy's weary, bloodshot eyes. "You feeling anything other than tired? No dizziness, headaches, nausea?" He paused, flashes of memory assaulting him as he swallowed an added, "Sore throat?"

The teenager met his eyes, sensing his brother's fear, and shook his head. "Nah, my throat's fine. It's just....I dunno, nothing much."

"Alan." Scott sat back in the chair and fixed him with '_the look_'.

"No, really," Alan insisted, rubbing the side of his neck and blinking owlishly. "I feel sick, except-" he sighed in frustration, struggling to verbalise the problem, "I don't _feel_ nauseous, but then I think I do. And sometimes everything's fine, but then the world starts spinning and I end up on my ass. And....yeah, okay, I admit that my head's _killin'_ me, but that's nothing new. The thing is, I don't really _feel_ sick, I just," he paused again, puffing out a breath and frowning, "I just feel _weird._ And tired. Does that make sense?"

Scott nodded slowly, his brow furrowing. Then he held up an index finger. "Hold on, just rewind it there a second. What did you mean by _"that's nothing new"_? You get headaches a lot?"

Alan shook his head. "No," he murmured, shifting on the bed before rolling onto his side again. "Never mind, it doesn't matter."

Feeling that this was something to argue about at a later date - preferably when Alan was feeling better - Scott glanced down at his watch and sighed deeply. Then, straightening up and gently slapping his hands against his thighs, he shifted his gaze to Alan and looked at the boy steadily for a long moment.

"It'll be dinner in half an hour or so," he stated softly, tilting his head to the side. "You gonna be eating with us?"

Alan shook his head and yawned. "Not really hungry. Can I just stay here?"

"Yeah, no problem." Scott didn't press the matter, but felt the concern creep up another notch."D'you want me to grab you something for the headache?"

Again, his brother shook his head, slipping one arm beneath the pillow and breathing out a weary sigh. "Already had two Tylenol," he mumbled, heavy lids drifting closed over glazed blue eyes. "Got 'em after lunch. Have to wait 'til after dinner."

"Sure thing. You drunk enough?"

Alan snorted. "Not old enough to drink."

Scott smiled. "Have you consumed enough liquid?"

"You sound like John."

"Alan."

The teenager sighed. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Okay." Scott squeezed his shoulder gently, reassuringly, and used the other hand to mess up his brother's hair. "Sleep tight, kiddo."

Pushing the desk chair a little further away from the bed, he stood to his feet and turned towards the door, heading quietly across the room. Just as he reached for the door handle, Alan called out to him softly.

"Hey Scott?"

He paused and glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"D'you hafta tell dad about this?"

Scott sighed and nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. Sorry, Sprout. If he found out I'd been keeping a secret like that, _I'd_ be the one on checklist duty for the rest of my life."

Alan gave a half-smile and rolled over onto his back again, his eyes sliding closed. Feeling only marginally guilty - and a tad nervous - about being the one to break the news to his father, Scott rubbed the back of his neck and sighed again, turning the handle and pulling the door open. Stepping out into the corridor, his mind still lost in thoughts and feelings regarding his little brother's welfare, he kept his gaze downcast as he pulled the door closed behind him, only looking up when he turned towards the staircase at the end of the corridor, and took a step forwards....

And walked straight into Virgil.

With a startled _"Whoa!"_ of surprise, he stepped back, heart hammering away in his chest as he stared at the shorter figure in front of him. Virgil gazed back at him, face serious.

"Virge, what're _you_ doing here?" Scott demanded in a harsh whisper.

Virgil nodded towards Alan's door, his eyes burning with concern. "He okay?"

Scott puffed out a heavy breath and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall and breaking eye contact, allowing his gaze to drop to the floor again. "He's got a fever," he stated softly. "And he's totally wiped. I'm thinking the flu."

Brow furrowing, Virgil stepped towards the door, only to stop as Scott extended an arm to block his path.

"What? I'm just gonna go see if he's alright."

The eldest Tracy son shook his head. "Virge, he's probably asleep already. Let him be. Save the whole 'Virge the Surge' thing until after dinner, okay?"

The medic glanced back towards the door, torn between the need to reassure himself that Alan was alright and the automatic urge to follow Scott's advice. But his brother was right, Alan needed sleep more than anything. And Virgil could always check up on him later. It could wait.

With a resigned sigh, the younger man turned back towards the staircase. "Fine."

Nodding, Scott pushed himself away from the wall and walked swiftly to catch up with his younger brother. Once they were a suitable distance away from Alan's room - the kid might still be awake, after all - he cleared his throat and glanced sideways at the shorter man.

"Hey Virge," he began, raising his voice to a normal volume now that they were out of hearing range.

"Yeah?"

"I don't suppose you fancy telling dad about....ya know....Alan?"

Virgil snorted. "No chance. You're on your own this time, bucko."

Scott sighed sadly and shook his head. "Whoopie."

_This isn't gonna be a pleasant conversation._

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Jeff quietly sat down in the chair beside his son's bed, studying Alan's features in the dim light that streamed into the dark room from the corridor. Alan was usually a light sleeper, and it was a sign of how exhausted the boy was that he hadn't awoken when Jeff had opened the door a few moments ago.

Not long before dinner, Scott had broken the news to him and Jeff's suspicions regarding Alan's health had been confirmed. And since then, his mind had begun flashing back to all the occasions in the past when his youngest son had been sick or injured. The earliest memory was of Alan as a baby when a simple cold had resulted in a temperature high enough to cause a set of febrile seizures. Man, that had been one of the worst nights of his life. None of his boys had suffered them before and it was the shock more than anything that had taken at least five years off Jeff's life.

And now his son was unwell again. Pathogens never seemed to go easy on his youngest boy.

Reaching out, Jeff pressed a gentle hand to his son's forehead, feeling the unnatural warmth of the teenager's skin beneath his fingers and shaking his head sadly. At the contact, Alan stirred, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out in soft grunt, his eyelids sliding open slowly.

"Nnn....Dad?"

"Hey," Jeff murmured, brushing a hand over Alan's hair. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I just wanted to check on your fever."

Alan blinked up at him sleepily. "Wha'sa' time?"

Jeff smiled at the slurred question. "Almost midnight. I should probably be in bed."

"Mmm-hmm. Sleep. S'good."

"Sound like a plan," the Tracy father agreed softly, leaning forwards and pulling the blankets up a little higher around Alan's shoulders. "You need anything?"

The teenager shook his head. "M'okay."

"Alright. Go back to sleep, Son. Hope you feel better in the morning."

The youngest Tracy didn't need to be told twice. Within a few moments, his breathing had evened out to a steady rhythm, his face relaxed as he slumbered on peacefully. Jeff smiled and slowly stood up, suppressing a yawn as he stepped away from the bed and headed towards the door.

Wincing in the light of the corridor, he pulled the door closed behind him and stretched his arms out to the side, feeling his joints pop in protest. A part of him regretted the fact that his bedroom was all the way on the other side of the villa, near Virgil and John's. It was probably the room furthest away from Alan's - other than has office, of course. But then again, Scott was only next door. And his eldest son was even more paranoid than he was. No, there was nothing to worry about.

Besides, Alan wasn't so small and helpless anymore. He'd grown so rapidly over the past twelve months, Jeff could barely keep up with him. It was like the pre-pubescent growth spurt all over again....just without 'The Talk' and the overload of pre-teen stubbornness.

Shaking his head, Jeff glanced back towards the closed bedroom door and sighed. Alan would be up and about again soon enough. A fever was hardly a life-threatening illness. As long as they kept an eye on him, everything would be fine.

_Maybe a good night's sleep is all he needs. He might be fully recovered by the morning. We'll just have to wait and see._

_

* * *

_

_**Heh, I think we all know that Jeff is very much mistaken... :^D**_

_**Hope you enjoyed reading the chapter. All feedback/concrit/praise/flames/complaints and requests are welcomed!  
**_

_**Review please!**_

_**xox  
**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Hey guys!**_

_**Okay, late update cannot be blamed entirely on me. Fanfiction went crazy from Tuesday to Thursday last week and wouldn't allow me to access me documents, where the main bulk of this chapter had been saved. Yeah, it bugged me too. Darn technology.**_

_**BUT...I am here now, with a gorgeosly long chapter (you like those, right?). And there's spots, people! Huzzah!**_

_**Thanks for another awesome batch of reviews. One DID confuse me - it simply said 'wesely65', whatever that's supposed to mean (and if the commenter is reading this now, I'd be thrilled if you could elaborate) - but the rest of them were bloomin' marvellous. I have such brilliant readers! :)  
**_

_**Anywho, enough stalling. Here's the chapter, m'dears....**_

_**

* * *

**_He could tell that something was wrong the moment he woke up.

Beneath the light duvet, his body was roasting. He could feel the material of his pyjama shorts and t-shirt clinging in places to his hot, sweaty skin, his uncovered feet comparatively cool as they stuck out from under the covers at the bottom end of the bed.

Stretched out on his side with the duvet pulled right up to his shoulder, he couldn't see any part of his body save his right hand, which lay upon the pillow beside his head. At least that _looked_ normal enough. But there was something about the way that his skin felt against the damp fabric of his shirt that wasn't right. It was an uncomfortable, almost itchy sensation.

Slipping his left arm out from beneath the warm cocoon of duvet, he shivered as the sweaty skin met the cooler air of the bedroom around him, feeling the tiny hairs standing on end as he pressed the limb against the top of the coverlet. The material was cold in comparison with the toasty inferno on the underside of the duvet and, even though it came as a shock to Alan's groggy state of consciousness, it helped to soothe the feverish heat that seemed to encompass the rest of his body.

Man, but he hated being sick.

And there it was again, that itching sensation. Except this time it was the left side of his neck, just where the warm, sweat-dampened collar of his t-shirt pressed against the skin. Try as he might, he couldn't ignore it. Still wrapped up in that hazy, semi-conscious bubble that accompanies early morning fatigue, Alan slowly moved his left hand across the top of the duvet and towards his neck. Finding just the right area on his warm skin, he scratched at it lazily, frowning to himself when he felt a small bump there.

_Probably a mosquito bite._

As the uncomfortable itch on his neck began to recede, he became aware of another area of irritation, this time on the left side of his chest. Carefully rolling over onto his back, he slid his right hand from the pillow and reached down to rub at the area through the fabric of his t-shirt. He paused, the frown sliding back into place as he felt another tiny bump beneath the thin material. He moved his fingers further across his chest, his brow furrowing in unmasked concern he located a third bump, then a forth and fifth within a centimetre of each other.

Alan frowned up at the ceiling. _What do I look like, a buffet bar?! Damn insects.  
_

The tops of his arms and the small of his back began to itch in unison and he squirmed, rubbing the irritated skin against the mattress beneath him in an attempt to alleviate the annoying sensation. When his attempts proved to be fruitless, he rolled a little to the side and twisted his arm up behind his back to scratch at the offending area. When his fingers ran over a whole patch of tiny bumps, Alan felt his eyes widen and a strange, churning sensation started to work its way up in his chest. Something wasn't right.

Almost in a trance, Alan sat up in bed and threw back the duvet, sucking in a sharp breath as the cold air blew against the dampness of his t-shirt and shorts. Ignoring the goosebumps that rose up all over his body, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and pressed a hand against the mattress to steady himself as the room spun around him. The slight headache that he'd been trying to ignore rolled to the front of his skull, pulsing angrily in response to the sudden change in position.

Well, at least one thing hadn't changed: he still felt terrible.

Extending his right arm out in front of him - a task that proved to be more strenuous than he expected; that heavy lead suit was still encasing his weary body - Alan looked down at it and blinked, his eyes immediately drawn to the single blemish that sat just beneath the sleeve of his dark t-shirt. It was, for lack of a better word, _ugly_. With a raised blister-like circular centre set upon a small area of beat-red skin, it stood out in stark contrast against the rest of Alan's lightly tanned arm. It looked almost like a burn.

Reaching across with his left hand, he pulled the sleeve up to his shoulder, his heart beginning to thump at a rapid pace within his chest as new spots were revealed. Four, five, six, seven....and heaven knows how many more lay splattered across his shoulder, hidden beneath the navy blue material of his shirt. Feeling nauseous and rather dizzy, Alan let his arm drop.

_Aw crap. Craaaaap._

Grabbing the bottom of his t-shirt, he peeled it up and away from his sweat-slicked skin, shivering again as the cool bedroom air blew against it tauntingly. Already knowing what he would see there, Alan grimaced and took a moment to steel himself before looking down at his exposed stomach and chest.

The whole area was mottled with the unsightly, angry, red marks, the spots alternating between small clusters and single bumps that were set centimetres apart.

It looked _gross_.

The churning sensation of mingled fear and shock intensified within his gut at the sight of it and he released his t-shirt, looking away from his chest and squeezing his stinging eyes shut. This had to be a dream. It was just a horrible, vivid and _itchy_ nightmare. He'd wake up any moment now without the spots. He'd laugh about it later with the guys over breakfast. It wasn't real. This couldn't be real. No way in a million years was he allowed to have...._that_.

Alan paused, running a hand through his hair as a thought occurred to him in the midst of his senseless panic. _Hey, it might not even be what I think it is. It could be something entirely different that just happens to result in....spots. Maybe it's a mutated acne strain? Hell, after the Scarlet Fever incident last year, I'm not excluding that as a possibility. Weirder stuff has happened before._

Still in a state of semi-denial, Alan pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and headed across the room towards his bathroom. He stared pointedly at the floor, watching his feet as they crossed through the doorway, stepping from the cool linoleum surface of his bedroom onto stone-cold tiles, the chill of the marble-patterned flooring freezing his toes.

All too soon, his lower abdomen connected with the smooth, white porcelain of the wash basin. With nauseatingly active butterflies multiplying by the second within the cold, churning confines of his stomach, Alan gripped the edge of the basin and took in a steadying breath, preparing himself for the worst. Slowly raising his head to look at his reflection in the mirror, he gazed at the blond teenager in silence for a long moment.

_Just stay calm. It's nothing. Just keep breathing._

He tried telling himself that it could've been far worse, but he was struggling to believe it. His face wasn't _covered_ in them, but the fact that they were still there was enough. Two on his left temple, a couple dotted across the top of his forehead, one on the far side of his right cheek and a small cluster of them converging just below the left side of his jaw. It was nowhere near as bad as his chest, but c'mon....they were on his _face_!

Still a little dazed by the extent of his unpleasant discovery, Alan could only lean against the wash basin and shake his head slowly, staring at the..._spotty_ reflection in the mirror before him. Couldn't it ever just be a normal, innocent case of the flu? Apparently not.

_I hate my life.  
_

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Gordon leaned against his balcony railing, gazing down at the rippling blue water of the large swimming pool at the far end of the deck below. His unbuttoned shirt flapped about his slim frame as a cool, refreshing gust of an early sea breeze blew towards him, bringing with it the damp, sweet aromas of the dense tropical jungle, laced with the light salty scent of the brilliantly blue ocean that stretched out beyond the island as far as the eye could see. Running a hand through his copper hair, the short locks still a little damp from his morning swim, he exhaled a gentle sigh of satisfaction and glanced up towards the pale sky above.

He'd been awake almost an hour and a half now, but it was still early - only just gone five-thirty, if his watch was anything to go by. The silence of the villa was rather eerie. Sure, he wasn't exactly a stranger to morning solitude - he'd always been an early riser, even as a child - but usually he'd only just be taking his first dive into the pool at this hour. The absence of sound was a little more obvious without the steady splashing of water in his ears.

Gordon loved noise. In his book, silences only existed to be broken - preferably by him. That's why he'd never coped with libraries. And with only the occasional call of some tropical bird emanating from the vast expanse of green jungle that surrounded the Tracy home, Gordon was quickly becoming bored.

_I think I'll go check on the fish. At least they **move**. Anything's better than just standing around here doing nothing, waiting for somebody else to wake up. I'll make some more coffee while I'm down there, maybe watch some TV and see if RealPlus is showing another documentary about International Rescue. Man, those things are hilarious.  
_

His mind made up, Gordon pushed himself away from the metal railing and stepped back through the bay windows and into his bedroom. Closing the glass screens behind him - after the parrot problems Virgil had experienced only a few months ago, he was a little more aware of the wildlife that lived with them on the island - he ran another hand through his hair on his way to the door.

_Hey, Scott'll be up in an hour or so. It's been a while since he was on the receiving end of a good prank. Maybe I should hide his running shoes? Old baboon-features gets mighty cranky if he doesn't burn his troubles away running around the track a couple of times. _

Pulling the door closed behind him, he shook his head. _Nah, that wouldn't work, I've done it before. He hides his shoes these days. I guess I could opt for the old shaving foam/whipped cream trick if I was desperate. But then again, Scotty's not as lethargic as Virgil is at this time of day, he'd probably notice the switch. Shame._

He was pulled out of his own thoughts by a muffled _'thunk'_, the noise - which would have been otherwise indistinguishable against the usual bustle of the Tracy household - sounding overly loud in the heavy silence of the sleeping villa. Pausing at the top of the stairs, Gordon glanced back towards the nearest bedroom door. He could've sworn that it had come from Alan's room. Maybe his brother was up and about already?

Walking up to the door, Gordon turned his head sideways and pressed his ear against the smooth, polished wood, holding his breath as he listened intently. Yes, somebody was definitely moving about in there, he could here the low _'shoom...thunk'_ of a drawer being closed.

_Maybe, if he's feeling a little better, he'll want some company. Or some breakfast. The kid skipped dinner last night, he must be starved._

Raising hand, he knocked gently on the hard wooden surface, reaching out to grasp the handle.

"Alan? You awake?"

There was a short pause, then the sound of rapid, heavy footsteps could be heard before a loud _'thump'_ echoed through the corridor as the door shuddered violently, the vibration traveling through the metal door-knob and into Gordon's hand. The aquanaut frowned.

Had Alan just...._thrown_ himself against the door?

Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Everything okay in there?"

"Yeah," came the reply, muffled slightly by the thick wood but clear enough to indicate that the speaker was standing just on the other side of the door. "I'm fine. Why?"

Gordon shrugged, even though Alan couldn't see him. "Just curious, you know me. Can I come in?"

He turned the handle and began pushing the door open, only to stop as a heavy weight crashed against it again from the other side, slamming it back into place.

"No!" Alan's voice had risen at least half an octave. "I'm kinda....look, the room's a mess, opening the door isn't a good idea."

Loosening his hold on the handle but by no means backing away from the situation, the redhead pressed a hand against the oak door-frame and leaned in closer.

"Dude, have you _seen_ my room? It's a dump! It's gotten so bad that Onaha's threatening to clean it herself - which, trust me, isn't something I _ever_ want her doing. Your room can't be all that bad, you've only been home for a day, and you spent most of your time sleeping! C'mon, open up."

"Gordon, really, you don't want to come in here." His brother sounded vaguely desperate.

The second youngest Tracy raised an eyebrow, his curiosity floating to the surface. He and Alan rarely kept secrets from each other. Whatever the teenager was trying to hide, it had to be pretty big. What had he done, dyed his hair blue?

The Olympic gold medalist grinned. _Like Johnny did on his twenty-second birthday. Man, that was hilarious. Huh, would've been funnier if he hadn't fallen down the stairs and landed himself in hospital an hour later. Still, that was a good day. It's nice to see Mr. Stoic throw caution to the wind and go wild from time to time....even if it often results in the need for medial attention._

Shaking his head to pull himself out of the fond memory, Gordon returned his gaze to the solid wood of the door.

"C'mon, kiddo, 'fess up," he chuckled. "What did ya do this time?"

"Nothing."

Gordon smirked. "I know you're lying, Sprout. C'mon, it can't be all that bad. Open up."

"Look, just leave me alone. _Please?_"

It was the added plea that altered Gordon's view of the situation. His curiosity made a sharp u-turn and crashed heavily into a solid mass of brotherly concern, the smile quickly sliding from his face as his brow furrowed, a rarely used frown sliding into place.

"Al, what is it?" he asked, he voice low but loud enough to be heard through the door. "Are you okay? Alan?"

Several long moments of tense silence stretched out between them, the sound of his own breathing the only noise to be heard.

"Sprout, you're starting to freak me out here. What's goin' on with you?"

Nothing. A big, fat load of empty silence.

"Hey," Gordon knocked on the door sharply, his concern making him agitated, "c'mon, kiddo, talk to me. What's the matter?"

When he again received no response, he stepped back from the door and frowned, copper eyebrows coming together in annoyance. Then, sighing heavily, the twenty-year-old grabbed the handle and twisted it, pushing his body against the door in an attempt to gain access to his brother's bedroom. Something was wrong, he just knew it.

"Alan, stop it," he huffed loudly, he voice gruff and strained as he pushed his full weight against the stubbornly immobile barricade. Judging by the large shadow in the centre of the crack beneath the closed door, his brother was actually _sitting_ behind it.

"Dammit, Sprout!" he grumbled, stepping back a moment before launching himself at the door again. It popped open and inch or so, but didn't give way. "When I get this door open, I...am...going...to..._sit_...on....you!" He punctured each word with a dull _'thunk'_ as he rammed his shoulder against the smooth wooden surface.

"What in heaven's name is going on here?!"

Gordon froze, straightening up immediately at the sharp tone and taking a small step back from the door. Turning towards the source of the voice, he had the decency to look at least a _little_ apologetic as he spotted Scott, still dressed in his pyjamas and with his hair sticking up at odd angles - _very unusual for Mr. Perfect_, Gordon mused - with that distinct 'you-just-woke-me-up' glare burning fiercely in his eyes.

"Scott," the younger man greeted, a little breathlessly - slamming oneself against a seemingly indestructible door sure does get the blood pumping. "Hey. How's it hangin'?"

The ex-Air Force pilot leaned against the doorway to his own bedroom and crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze locked onto his younger brother as he raised a dark eyebrow expectantly. If looks could kill, Gordon would be floating on a cloud and playing a golden harp right now.

The aquanaut grimaced. _Okay, **bad** mental image right there._

"Gordon," Scott was obviously trying his best to rein in his anger, "care to explain why you're making a ruckus at God knows what hour in the morning outside _Alan's_ bedroom? The kid's sick, doofus. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Slightly affronted that his brother was insinuating that he was insensitive enough to go charging into Alan's closed bedroom door for just the fun of it - sure, he'd done weirder things, but waking the kid up when he was sick wasn't something he'd ever dream of doing - Gordon frowned defensively.

"Nothing's wrong with _me_," he grumbled back. "Something's wrong with _Alan_."

The anger vanished from Scott's face in a split second, a more familiar expression of concern replacing it a moment later as the eldest Tracy son stepped away from his own bedroom, his eyes now burning with that tender worry that was so _Scott_, it almost seemed to complete the look. The brown-haired man grabbed Gordon's upper arm lightly and dragged him further down the corridor, far away enough from Alan's door to prevent their younger sibling from overhearing.

"What's wrong with him?"

Gordon shrugged. "That's what I've been trying to find out. The kid won't let me in. Hell, he won't even _talk_ to me."

Scott raised an eyebrow. "So you figured that throwing yourself against the door would be the easiest way to solve the problem?" At Gordon's sheepish look, he rolled his eyes and shook his head, moving towards Alan's bedroom and mumbling, "Thank God you weren't the eldest."

Raising a hand, the eldest Tracy son knocked on the door gently.

"Alan? Hey, it's me. Can I come in?"

"No," came the sullen reply.

Scott looked towards Gordon and the younger man sent him a '_see what I mean?'_ look, spreading his hands and puffing out a heavy sigh. Ignoring the redhead, Scott lowered himself to the floor and sat down, leaning his back against the door - just as he guessed Alan was doing on the other side.

"Why not?" he asked softly. "Are you alright?"

There was a slight pause and Scott held his breath, waiting for an answer.

"I - I just-" Alan stopped, and Scott could almost _feel_ his little brother's frustration. "I'm not ready, okay?"

Scott frowned. "Not ready for what?"

"To tell you about....stuff."

The pilot shook his head. "Kiddo, you're gonna hafta give me more than that. Has this got anything to do with you being sick?"

There was another pause then, quietly, "Yeah."

Well, at least they were getting somewhere. But the answer hardly made him feel any better about the situation. Still tired from being pulled from the land of dreams so suddenly, his brain was having enough trouble just keeping up with the situation. At least it was nothing new; being woken up at odd hours because one of his siblings had somehow managed to get themselves stuck in an unusual predicament had been a common occurrence whilst the younger three Tracy sons were growing up. A bump on the head here, a sprained ankle there....then there was the whole issue of Gordon's dangerous sleep-walking antics. Scott hadn't slept properly for months during that stressful period of the redhead's childhood. Thank God it had only been a brief phase.

Returning his attention to the present situation, Scott let out a sigh and ran a hand over his face wearily, shaking his head. His brothers would be the death of him.

"Sprout, I _need_ to know what's wrong," he stated softly. "Please? I can't help you unless you tell me."

A long silence stretched out between them and, out of the corner of his eye, Scott saw Gordon turn around and begin banging his head softly against the wall. Tapping the index finger of a loosely curled fist against his chin, Scott let out another heavy sigh and leaned his head back, allowing his gaze to drift to the ceiling.

"Look, kiddo, we've got two options here," he said lightly. "Either you open the door and let me in or I'm gonna trek around to the front of the house, climb up onto your balcony and get in through your window. Personally, I'd prefer option 'A', but the choice is up to you. Either way, I'm coming in."

There was another pause, but this one was not so tense. Scott guessed that his brother was contemplating his two options. And he knew that Alan was aware of his sincerity; he was perfectly willing to grab a ladder from one of the storage rooms downstairs and climb up onto the teenager's balcony. But he was secretly praying that the youngest Tracy would just admit defeat and open the door. It would save them both a lot of hassle.

At long last, there came the sound of muffled shuffling against the door as Alan began getting to his feet. Smiling triumphantly and flashing Gordon a look that said '_See? Nothing to it,'_ Scott rose from the floor, brushing invisible dirt from his pyjama shorts and turning to face the door as the handle turned and it slowly swung open.

"See? That wasn't so har-"

The cheerful words died on his lips as the door swung fully open, revealing the miserable-looking boy who had been sitting so resolutely behind it. Eyes widening, Scott felt his heart lurch in surprise at the sight, a cold, churning worry moving upwards from his gut to the centre of his chest as he stared at his younger sibling in mild shock. Small, blister-like red spots covered the teenager's neck and upper arms, clearly visible against the lighter skin beneath. The white tank top he wore exposed enough skin to suggest that this general trend of splattered spots also covered most of the teen's chest.

"Aw kiddo," he managed, his voice no more than a murmur as he struggled to get past the initial shock of seeing his brother looking like....like _that_.

He sensed Gordon come up behind him, a second before a loud exclamation almost burst his eardrum.

"Holy shi- Ow!"

Wincing slightly - stamping on Gordon's foot had probably hurt him more than it had his brother - Scott returned his full attention to the smaller Tracy in front of him, gazing at the teenager sympathetically as he studied the flushed, sweaty face and bloodshot eyes.

Alan looked up at him, leaning unsteadily against the bedroom wall as he worried his bottom lip.

"Scott? I think - I think I've got the chickenpox."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"Yup," Virgil sighed, pulling off his gloves and dropping them into the bin beside the infirmary bed. "It's chickenpox alright."

Alan sighed miserably, idly swinging his legs to and fro over the side of the bed as he kept his gaze fixed on the floor. He _hated_ being in the infirmary. The lights were too bright, they were aggravating his headache. And the whole place was _way_ too stuffy.

"I don't get it," Gordon stated suddenly.

Alan glanced up, wincing slightly as the overhead lights took the opportunity to glare down at him tauntingly, and looked across the room to where his brother sat on the other infirmary bed beside the door - Alan had picked the bed closest to the window; at least then he'd be able to see freedom, even if he couldn't experience it for himself. His brother sat facing him, his hands pressed against the mattress to keep him upright as he frowned in Alan's direction.

Jeff set down his mug of coffee on the bedside table and shifted in his seat to face his second youngest son. "Get what?"

"How Alan could've caught chickenpox," the copper-haired Tracy elaborated. "He got the vaccine, right?"

"Yeah," Alan agreed, turning towards the brother he knew would have the answers to the questions that had been circling around within his head for the past hour. "I remember getting a booster for it when I was, like, eight. What went wrong?"

Virgil leaned against Alan's bed, smiling at him softly as he raised an aural thermometer and carefully inserted the tip into his brother's ear. Alan grimaced at the unpleasant coldness, resisting the urge to jerk his head away.

"The vaccine isn't foolproof," the medic explained gently, withdrawing the device as it emitted a soft '_beep_' and glancing down at the reading. "Even with the two booster shots - which are normally administered four years apart to strengthen the body's immunity - you still don't have the natural one-hundred percent protection that comes from fighting off the virus independently. But usually the weaker antibody response that the vaccine provides is enough to shield you from infection."

Alan frowned, indicating the spots on his face and neck. "Then how come _this_ happened?"

"As I said, it's not foolproof," Virgil repeated, laying a gentle hand on Alan's knee and sighing softly. "Mankind's been fighting the varicella virus for centuries, we've never been able to develop a vaccine to snuff it out completely. The vaccine that I was given as a baby was probably significantly different to the one you were given six and a half years later. Viruses can change, kiddo. Mutate..."

The teenager puffed out an annoyed sigh. "Man, I hate that word. Why does everything have to mutate?"

"Natural Selection, Sprout," John chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall casually. "In order to survive, the antigen bends the rules and changes its nucleotide sequence just a little bit, and bam! The vaccine loses the bulk of its power."

"Why the hell do they even bother giving it to us, then?" Alan grumbled, rubbing at the irritating itch on his neck.

"_Because_," Virgil continued, using the word as a warning as he gently pushed Alan's hand back down again and raised an eyebrow in silent reprimand, "the virus doesn't always mutate. On the whole, the vaccine's actually pretty effective. A lot of people live there lives without ever contracting chickenpox. But then again, they often don't come into close contact with the varicella antigen after they leave full-time education. Those who do - like parents who have kids who contract a mutated strain of the virus - can end up _seriously_ ill. To a certain extent, it would almost be better to have chickenpox as a kid and get total protection for life - well, more or less - rather than have the weak protection that the vaccine offers. But hey, it does have its benefits for about two thirds of the population, so I guess we shouldn't complain."

Alan frowned again, trying to process the wad of factual information. His brain really wasn't up to absorbing this kinda thing right now.

"So," he said at last, his voice sullen and lifeless, "how long am I gonna look like this?"

Virgil shrugged, playing with the stethoscope that hung about his neck. "Honestly? I have no idea. It varies from person to person, particularly with adolescents. You'll continue to develop spots for at least five our six more days, I should think-"

"Wait, what?" Alan stuttered, head snapping up and eyes widening in horror. "You mean I'm gonna get _more_ of these things?!"

The middle Tracy son nodded slowly. "Yeah, 'fraid so, Sprout. The spots usually come in two or three waves, so expect the number to have doubled by the end of the week."

"But," life really was terribly unfair, "but I'm already _covered_ in the darn things! Have you _seen_ my back?!"

"Um," the brown-haired Tracy looked surprised. "No, actually. Hold on a sec."

Virgil set the thermometer down on the mattress and rounded the bed, reaching across to lift up the bottom of Alan's tank top and expose his back. Alan shivered as the cool air of the infirmary blew against his feverish skin, making his spots itch all the more. Man, but he wanted to _scratch_. He'd be willing to risk getting a secondary infection just for the sake of relieving the irritation for a few moments.

Jeff stood up from his chair and, putting a reassuring hand on Alan's lower arm, leaned forwards over the bed to peer around the side of his son's body and look at the teenager's back. Letting out a low whistle, he straightened up again.

"Well," he sighed, "looks like you won't be going back to school for a couple of weeks."

Alan went rigid, his eyes widening again as the word registered home. School. He'd completely forgotten about school. Leaning forwards, his elbows resting against his knees, he allowed his head to drop into his hands.

"Virge, do me a favour and shoot me. Please. My life is _over_."

He heard his father chuckle. "Hey, c'mon now. It'll be fine. People get chickenpox all the time, it's nothing to be embarrassed about."

Alan raised his head and shook it firmly, holding up an index finger. "No, no, no," he corrected. "Little kids get chickenpox, that's fine and cute and _normal_. But teenagers? How many teenagers get chickenpox?!"

"More than you'd expect, actually," Virgil replied, even though it had been a rhetorical question. "Quite a few people contracted it during my time at boarding school. In fact, my roommate caught it in our final year. He was off for almost two months. But his case was a little....vicious."

The youngest Tracy raised a suspicious eyebrow. He had a feeling that Virgil was about to break the more unpleasant news to him.

"You see, kiddo," the medic continued, "chickenpox is a lot less serious in pre-pubescent children. Some kids can be over it in less than a week. But in adults and teenagers? Well....let's just say that the risk of further problems is quadrupled, and the severity of the attack increases by a factor of fifty. Not only is the virus more vicious when it enters a developed immune system, but it can also lead to more serious complications such as a strep infection of the skin, viral pneumonia, encephalitis, septicemia, even stage one hepatitis which can-"

"Virge," Scott interjected from where he stood leaning against the counter on the far side of the room, glancing between the middle Tracy and his youngest brother with concerned eyes, having noticed the sudden pallor of the teenager's skin. "I think he gets the picture."

"Oh," the medic looked at the blond and winced, "right. Sorry."

Alan puffed out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Anything else I should know about?"

"Well..." Virgil hesitated, none too keen on making his brother feel any worse about the situation than he already did. "Aside from a whopper of a headache, a high fever and an increasingly aggravating itch, there's not a lot left to expect. Except, well, you'll probably develop spots on your legs, so there's a small possibility that it might affect other areas_....down there._"

His mouth dropping open, the youngest Tracy blinked in shock. "Please tell me you're joking?"

Virgil shook his head mutely and Alan closed his eyes, allowing his head to drop back down into his hands. He felt Virgil's cool hand come to settle on the back of his burning neck and sighed, tapping an index finger against his brow without raising his head.

Gordon must've sensed the need to break the tense silence, because he suddenly straightened up on the other infirmary bed, an inquisitive frown in place. "Say, there's one question that hasn't been answered yet," he remarked lightly.

Alan looked up then, squinting again as his eyes struggled to adjust to the bright light. "What?"

"Who'd Alan get the chickenpox _from_?" the aquanaut asked. "I mean, it's not like there's been an outbreak at Wharton's. We would've been told about it if there had been, right?"

"No necessarily," John quipped, running a hand through his light blond hair. "Technically, the school doesn't have to publicly announce an outbreak of chickenpox until fifteen percent of the students have been diagnosed with the virus. At least that's the law regarding chickenpox in elementary schools. I don't know if it applies at Wharton's."

Gordon stared at the space monitor incredulously, before glancing back towards the centre of the room and exclaiming, "How the hell does he _know_ all this stuff?"

John grinned, shrugging. "Hey, you learn from experience, right? I only know because that's what happened at school when we were kids. You were only three when it happened, you probably don't remember; Virgil hadn't even started school yet. Almost everyone in my class got infected, me included. That's an example of how a teeny-tiny mutation in the antigen's makeup can render the vaccine useless. Sure, most of the kids didn't have it half as bad as an un-vaccinated child would've, but it didn't stop it from spreading like wildfire."

Scott nodded. "Half the school came down with it. I remember going to class on the Friday with only four other kids, the rest of them were off sick. Then John and I came down with it over the weekend and.....I think Gordon and Virgil broke out in spots a week or so after that, didn't they? There was definitely a gap."

"Yup. Worst two weeks of my life," Jeff stated sincerely, shaking his head. "All four of you sick, one after the other. Don't think I slept a wink the whole time."

Intrigued, Alan tipped his head to the side. "Did you ever catch it?"

"Who, me?" his father asked, crossing one leg casually over the other. "Centuries ago, back when I was in fifth grade." A wistful smile passed over his face. "I think I caught it of Pamela Winters. Man, but she had a lovely-"

"Whoa, whoa, stop!" Gordon grimaced and waved his hands in front of him. "Dad, _please_. That's a trip down memory lane we'd rather not share with you."

Alan cracked a smile, dropping his gaze to the floor again as the laughter rolled over him. He still wasn't happy about his current situation, but he _was_ pretty darn grateful that he'd been at home when then spots had broken out. Facing that kind of embarrassment at school would be too much. And he had to admit, having his family close by would be kinda nice. Sure, his brothers could be a little 'smotherish' at times, but it was better than being stuck in the hospital wing with strange school nurses and overly cheerful doctors who you'd never even met before.

"Guys, we still haven't established who gave Alan the virus," Gordon stated, looking towards his younger brother. "It's kinda important. I don't think Fermat's ever had chickenpox before, he might've caught it off whoever infected you."

Shaking his head, Alan rubbed the small of his back through the thin material of his tank top, frowning as Virgil pushed his hand away again. With a heavy sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and chewed on his bottom lip.

"Actually, I think I caught it off Ben's little brother."

Jeff raised an eyebrow. "Off who?"

"Well over a week ago," Alan began, "I came across this kid - four, maybe five years old - in the canteen on my way to workshop. Poor little guy was bawling his eyes out, I couldn't just leave him there. From what I could work out, he'd gotten separated from his parents somehow. He was kinda....clingy. So I carried him down to the main entrance hall and left him with one of the receptionists."

Virgil smiled, nudging him gently. "See? I always knew you'd inherited the big brother gene."

Alan gave a sort of half-smile in return, shaking his head again and trying not to wince at the daggers that shot through his temples. "Anyway, I completely forgot about the kid until last Friday, when Jake - he's a friend of mine who runs track - said that I didn't look so good, and that it might be the same bug that Ben's little brother had come down with."

"Let me guess: chickenpox?" John asked, moving further into the room and leaning against the bed where Gordon sat.

Shrugging, the teenager sighed. "Dunno, I never found out. But I can't see that there's another way that I could've been infected. Nobody in my class has been off sick recently, except for Phil. But he had appendicitis, not chickenpox."

Jeff nodded his head slowly. "Maybe you should give Ben a call; double check that his brother is definitely the source. I'm gonna contact Brains and ask him to get in touch with whoever's supervising Fermat's math team. With any luck, it'll end up that he left for the championships early enough to have avoided catching the virus off you. But we'll need somebody to keep an eye on him, just in case."

A thought occured to Alan and he frowned worriedly, looking up towards his father. "What about Onaha? And Kyrano? Have they had chickenpox before?"

The Tracy patriarch stroked his chin absently. "I don't think so. But I can't be sure, it's not exactly a topic we've discussed in the past. I know that Tin-Tin hasn't had it, she got her final booster right before she went to boarding school last summer." Standing to his feet, Jeff reached out to brush a hand over Alan's hair. "Don't worry about it, I'll sort it out. I'm gonna go make a few calls. The school's gonna want to know about this."

Alan looked at the older man imploringly. "Can't you just tell them it's the flu?"

"Sorry, kiddo," Jeff chuckled, pushing himself away from the bed and heading towards the door. "Relax, they're not gonna announce it to the whole school. It's primarily for their medical records. Your reputation as a cool dude won't be marred."

Watching his father's retreating back, Alan sighed and crossed his arms over his chest glumly. As the doors closed with a _'hiss'_ behind the senior Tracy, his second youngest son turned towards the remaining occupants of the room, a copper eyebrow raised.

"Did Dad just say 'cool dude'?"

Scott laughed, pushing himself up to sit on the bed beside Alan. "Maybe he's coming down with something."

Managing another smile, Alan rubbed at his stinging eyes and shook his head. "Well, at least we know that it isn't chickenpox."

"Not necessarily," John interjected, a grin curling his lips as his blue eyes danced with amusement. "You ever heard of shingles? It's what they call the second contraction of chickenpox that happens decades after the first one."

For what felt like the hundredth time that morning, Alan felt his mouth dropping open in surprise. Virgil chuckled, clapping him on the knee gently.

"Don't sweat it, Sprout," he soothed. "Shingles are pretty rare. Besides, Dad was exposed to the virus when the rest of us got it seventeen years ago, his body's had a chance to reboot its defenses. He'll be fine."

Alan frowned to himself._ Famous last words._

"Look, I've gotta go make a few calls," Virgil stated softly, jerking his head towards the door on the other side of the room that lead to the small laboratory. "I need to ask Tom for some advice about drugs."

"Still haven't kicked the habit, then?" Gordon inquired lightly, shaking his head. "Tut-tut, Virge."

The medic rolled his eyes. "Ah, go fry yourself, Goldfish." Then, turning back towards Alan, he smiled cheerfully. "Which reminds me, you need to get some food in you. I know you probably don't feel much like eating, but your body's gonna need all the energy it can get if it's gonna fight off the virus quickly. Go have some breakfast, kiddo. It'll make you feel more human."

Grimacing, the teenager sighed heavily.

_Well, I guess there's only one thing for it. Bring on the spotty blueberry pancakes._

_

* * *

_

_**And thus ends the story!**_

**_Lol, joke. Nowhere near finished. Now that Alan's finally broken out in spots, the fun can begin. Ever had chickenpox as a teenager? Well, I know somebody who has. And it's his description of the layout and number of spots on the face and torso that I'm going by. Typically, the face is usually covered in spots, but it wasn't so at first with my....subject. But you'll see how things progress for our youngest Tracy later on. Many hugs and kisses to my lovely Wally for revealing (in great detail) his unfortunate chickenpox experience and allowing me to incorporate it into this story. _**

**_Since this update is running so late and with two university open days for me to attend this week, my free time in the near future looking to be reaching a minimum marker. I might have to postpone the next chapter until the following weekend. Admittedly, I'd prefer to just skip the open days and sit and home, but real life is becoming more of an issue now that the UCAS forms are getting ready to be sent off. All applications for medicine have to go in early. Humph._**

**_But I promise to return as soon as life allows. My sister has now returned to university - *sigh* bye, Moo-Moo - so I've actually begun to keep my laptop in her bedroom so that I won't be tempted to ditch the coursework and relax online. I do need to get A's this year if I want to go to a good uni, and that means making certain sacrifices. Hope you guys understand._**

**_So....see you in ten/eleven days or so! Hope you stick around until then. :)_**

**_xox  
_**


	8. Chapter 8

_**Oh patient reviewers, how I love you! *grins*  
**_

_**Thanks for being so understanding over the past week and a half. Having seen other archives on fanfiction, I truly believe that this is one of the nicer ones. Aside from the occasional phantom flamer (who's usually snuffed out by the more protective and formidable authors among us within about three days), everybody on here is so encouraging. The Thunderbirds category is by far the best to be in. :) **_

_**Take note: this chapter is just one part of a BIG birthday present to my dear friend, Criminally Charmed. *hugs* Hope you had a brilliant day, deary! And I ain't telling you what the other half of your gift is, you'll have to wait a few days for that one.  
**_

_**Well, I've left you waiting long enough. Enjoy....**_

* * *

Breakfast hadn't gone down so well with Alan's stomach. He'd eaten it in the living room with John and Virgil in order to avoid coming into contact with Onaha and Kyrano, who - although having been vaccinated - had never contracted the varicella virus before.

Despite that, Onaha hadn't really heeded Virgil's warnings, having brought Alan his breakfast on a tray and spent a great deal of time fussing over him and making sure that he was comfortable - although he'd been lying through his teeth when he'd assured her that he was, because really, how on earth could he _ever_ get 'comfortable' with spots splattered over most of his upper body?

Then he'd started on his breakfast and things had rapidly gone further downhill.

It wasn't that the process of eating had made him _nauseous_ as such, but....there was definitely something weird going on inside his stomach. Half a glass of orange juice and a few bites of toast were churning around somewhere in his abdomen, refusing to settle. And to make matters worse, the cool shower he'd taken before breakfast - right after leaving the infirmary - had reignited that blasted urge to scratch. Damn secondary infections to hell, the tickling sensation was driving him insane!

Alan frowned, rubbing shoulders against the back of the couch behind him, trying to soothe the aggravating itch. Unfortunately for him, the material of his t-shirt acted as a barrier against the surface of the couch, sticking to his sweaty skin and blocking out any potential relief that the friction could have provided.

"Dammit," he moaned, shifting uncomfortably.

On the couch across from him, John glanced up from his book and raised an eyebrow. "Everything okay, Sprout?"

"No, everything's not freakin' okay!" Alan huffed, although his anger lacked any real energy - man, but he was tired. "My head's killin' me, I'm covered in God knows how many spots, it's only nine o'clock in the freakin' morning but I'm already as tired as hell, and to top it all off, Gordon's finding the whole damn situation freakin' hilarious!"

In the seat beside John, lovingly nursing a mug of coffee between his hands, Virgil shook his head. "Hey, c'mon now, that's not true."

Alan crossed his arms over his chest and glared towards the door, as though he expected the copper-haired Tracy to be standing outside - although, in all fairness, he usually wasn't far away when the topic of conversation was centred around something he'd done.

"Oh isn't it?" the teenager countered disbelievingly. "Dude, he called me his '_polka dot princess_'."

Letting out an explosive snort of muffled laughter, Virgil ducked his head and coughed unconvincingly, the corners of his mouth straining to twist upwards into the grin that threatened to erupt onto his face. John and Alan sent him identical glares, the older blond folding the corner of the page in his book carefully before closing it and setting the novel aside on the coffee table in front of him. Turning back to his youngest sibling, he smiled calmly.

"Don't let it bother you, kiddo," he said, gently. "Gordon's just being Gordon. Humour....well humour's sort of his outlet. Dad works, Scott mothers, Virgil doctors and Gordon jokes. It's just the way our family deals with situations like this. It can drive you crazy, I know, but it's better than the alternative."

Now it was Alan's turn to raise an eyebrow. "And that would be....?"

"Half a ton of stress with a few fist fights thrown in for good measure."

Acknowledging the truth behind his brother's words with a slight nod, Alan settled down a little, leaning his head against the back of the couch and lazily fixing the astronomer with a questioning gaze. "What's _your_ outlet?"

John looked thoughtful for a moment, shrugged, then crossed a leg casually over the other.

"Chocolate."

Alan grinned, leaning his head back and nodding appreciatively. "Nice."

At the sound of footsteps echoing in from the linoleum-floored corridor, he looked up, glancing towards the doorway in time to see his father enter the room. The Tracy patriarch smiled back at him warmly, making his way over to the larger of the two couches and sitting down beside Alan, clapping him gently on the knee.

"I've spoken to someone at the school office," Jeff stated lightly, "she'll pass along the message to the people who need to hear it. And since they won't be making it a public announcement, you may want to contact your friends and explain what the problem is."

"No need," Alan replied glumly, shifting again as the urge to itch became more difficult to ignore. "Coach Stevens will probably tell the team at practice tomorrow, and Alex Shlier - he's one of the senior runners - has the biggest mouth in the school. Trust me, everyone's gonna know by Tuesday."

Jeff brushed a hand through his greying hair and sighed. "Well, I'm afraid it can't be helped. And hey, look on the bright side; you'll probably be stuck at home for the next fortnight, they might've forgotten all about it by the time you're back to school."

Alan looked at him with exasperated incredulity. "Dad, please. You haven't been a teenager in a long time, you don't know what it's like."

"No, of course not," his father answered calmly, leaning back against the couch and crossing one leg other the other. "You would've thought that, with five grown sons, I would be a little more up-to-date on current teenage affairs. But no, I'm just a clueless old man, never mind me."

The teenager looked mildly apologetic. "Dad, I didn't mean it like-"

"I know," Jeff chuckled, shooting him a fond grin. "After twenty-six years of parenting, it's certainly not the first time I've heard it." Then he frowned thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, I don't know if it _was_ one of you boys who said it first. I have a feeling it was Tom."

Alan grinned at that. Despite being the same age as his father, the doctor and family friend, Thomas Palmar, had always tried to kid on that he was a good ten years younger. Of course, his Gordon-like personality and endless positive energy certainly made him more youthful. Last year, when he'd gotten married to a nurse, Jennifer Byrnes, who worked in his department at the hospital, Jeff had jokingly proclaimed that it was 'young love'. Apparently, Thomas had taken it to heart.

"Say, speaking of Tom," Jeff continued, glancing across the room towards Virgil, "did you manage to get through to him?"

In the midst of taking a long sip of coffee, the middle Tracy son shook his head. Then swallowing, he elaborated, "He didn't answer his vid-comm, so I tried calling his cell. The voice-mail said that he's in a meeting, so I left a message asking him to call me back."

Jeff nodded. "That's good."

"Aha! _There's_ my polka dot princess!"

Shooting a withering glare at the copper-haired figure who stood leaning against the living room door, Alan resisted the urge to flip his brother the finger, uncomfortably aware that his father was sitting beside him and wouldn't approve of that particular method of retaliation.

Instead, he opted for muttering a moody, "Shut up."

"Gordon," his father warned a second later as the twenty-year-old grinned and opened his mouth in order to continue. "Leave your brother alone."

Spreading his arms, Gordon tried to look innocent. "What? I wasn't gonna say anything!"

"Sure you weren't," Alan grumbled, dropping his gaze to the large glass coffee table between the two couches and glaring at the TV remote as though it were solely responsible for all the ills of the world.

"Ah c'mon, kiddo, lighten up." Gordon plopped down onto the couch beside Virgil, unfazed by the murderous frown said brother was sending in his direction; Virgil always had been a tad too protective of his patients, but the fact that it was his youngest sibling was no doubt adding fuel to the fire of 'professional' concern.

Alan's frown deepened. _'Lighten up'? Huh. That's easy for him to say, **he's** not the one covered in spots._

As his mind returned to his current predicament, a particularly persistent itch on the back of his neck flared to a whole new intensity. And although he tried for several uncomfortable, long moments to ignore it, the sensation proved to be too persuasive and Alan reached back, scratching at it quickly. And _man_, it felt good. Why the hell hadn't he done it sooner? The prickly feeling was slowly receding, bringing with it a sense of relief and satisfaction. Now if only he could get away with moving his hand just a little to the right and scratching at that other spot - he hadn't noticed it before, but it was _seriously_ starting to itch now that its partner had been taken care of.

"Alan."

Freezing at the gentle warning tone, Alan glanced sideways at his father and smiled sheepishly, slowly lowering his hand. "Sorry."

Jeff's gaze was sympathetic. "I know it's driving you crazy, Son, but you need to keep from scratching. You'll only end up with scars otherwise."

Alan sighed forlornly. "S'not my fault they itch so much," he muttered, for once not caring how childish he sounded. Heck, he had _chickenpox_! That was childish enough already, there was no use in denying the unfortunate reality of his situation.

"Ya know," Virgil began, taking a long, slow sip from his coffee as he allowed the pause to stretch out for a moment, "there _are _ways to make the itch a little more bearable."

Raising a suspicious eyebrow - having known Virgil his whole life, he was fully aware of what that tone of voice suggested - Alan tilted his head to the side. "Like what?"

Virgil shrugged. "Some of the basic antipruritic creams would help. Calamine lotion, for one. It's particularly good for treating chickenpox rashes because it can double up as a mild antiseptic and helps to decrease the risk of secondary infections."

"Sounds innocent enough," Alan mused. Then his brow furrowed. "Why do I get the impression that there's a catch?"

The medic chuckled. "There isn't a-"

"It's pink."

Alan glanced towards his blond-haired brother, who had once again immersed himself in his novel. "Come again?"

"The calamine lotion - it's pink," John elaborated, still not looking up from the open book as he turned the page. "At least the stuff Virgil has in storage is pink. Don't know if it's _supposed_ to be that colour, but hey, it seemed to work on the heat rash I got a couple of months back." He looked sideways at his younger brown-haired brother, a confused expression passing over his face as he was met with a hard glare. "What?"

Virgil rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Did you _have_ to tell him that?"

John shrugged and returned his attention to the open book. "Hey, the kid's not colourblind, he would've figured it out for himself sooner or later."

"Virge, it's fine," Alan assured him tiredly, rubbing the centre of his forehead to alleviate the throbbing headache that had begun to build up there and closing his eyes. "Pink I can live with. Anything to get rid of this darn itch."

"There's another good remedy to relieve irritation that your mother used when your brothers came down with chickenpox," Jeff remarked thoughtfully.

With his eyes still closed, Alan smirked. "Hey, Gordon's irritating, will it get rid of him?"

He heard his father chuckle beside him and his grin widened. He could just picture the look on Gordon's face.....Ah, revenge was sweet.

"Unfortunately, you're stuck with your brother for the time being," the Tracy patriarch replied, the smile clear in his voice. "But this _should_ help get rid of that itch."

"Oh?" Alan sounded only vaguely interested, his mind already wandering as his body grew weary and the warm blanket of sleep began to creep up his arms and legs. "What is it?"

"An oatmeal bath."

Alan wrenched his heavy eyelids open, rolling his head to the side and raising an eyebrow. "An oatmeal...._bath_?"

Jeff nodded absently, seemingly oblivious to the incredulous look his youngest son was wearing. "I'll get Onaha to show you how to make one up, she recommended them to me during breakfast. It's just ground oats and warm water. Pretty simple, really."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Alan held up a hand, shaking his head. "You want me to bathe in oatmeal?" He glanced across at his brothers, who were clearly trying not to smile - even John, Mr. Impassive himself, seemed amused by the situation. The teenager frowned. "No. Nuh-uh. No freakin' way. That's a whole new level of 'old guy' weirdness."

"Gee thanks." Jeff couldn't help but chuckle at his son's reaction. "You know, it's not actually all that unusual to use oatmeal baths as a method of soothing irritated skin. I had them all the time when I was younger. Between the ages of eight and ten, I seemed to have an aptitude for finding every poison ivy bush in Kansas and crashing my bike into it. Oatmeal baths felt _fantastic_."

"Dad," Alan's frown deepened all the more and he stood up with a huff of weary frustration, "I'm _not_ bathing in oatmeal. End of conversation."

Virgil watched him head towards the door, his brow creasing in concern. "Where you goin'?"

"Back to bed," the younger Tracy grumbled, disappearing out through the door.

The only sound for a long moment was that of Alan's bare feet 'splatting' gently against the smooth flooring of the corridor as he walked further away from the living room, the gentle noise eventually receding into a heavy silence. Then Gordon sat forward, a rarely used contemplative frown tugging at his copper eyebrows as he let his hands hang down between his knees.

"Alan's not really coping with the whole 'chickenpox' thing, is he?"

Virgil sent him 'The Look'. "You think?"

The younger man tapped his fingers against each other thoughtfully. "Maybe I should go cheer him up."

"Don't," Virgil grabbed his arm as the aquanaut made to get up, "even think about it."

"What? I just wanted to-"

"Yeah, well don't."

"Why can't I just-"

"Don't," Virgil repeated emphatically.

Gordon frowned. "What's your problem?"

"You."

"Dude, you're such an assho-"

"Boys," Jeff warned, shooting them both significant glances as he leaned forwards to pick up the remote from its place on the coffee table. "At least _try_ to act your age."

John grinned, returning his attention to the book in his hand. "Do you want me to sit between them, Dad?"

"No, I don't think that's necessary," Jeff replied calmly, hiding a smirk as the two younger Tracys frowned at their older brother in a rare display of unity. He switched on the giant plasma screen TV that hung on the far wall and sat back against the couch. "But if they don't pipe down, I may have to reestablish time outs."

Seeing his sons' expressions, Jeff couldn't help but give in to the smile that readily surfaced, hearing the familiar _"But Daaad! He started it!"_ echo in a warm, pleasant corner of his distant memory. He recalled a time when the utterance of the dreaded 'time out' threat would've transformed his boys into perfect angels in a matter of milliseconds. Of course, there had always been exceptions to the rule. It usually depended on the situation, and the child - Gordon had always been, to put it mildly, rather an energetic youngster - but on the whole, time outs had been the most effective tool Jeff had ever used. And he knew perfectly well why. No Tracy liked to sit still and do _nothing_ for any length of time. It just wasn't natural.

Pointing the remote at the TV again, he turned up the volume, reading the text that flowed across the bottom of the screen as he half listened to the anchor-woman delivering her scripted news report from what appeared to be the car park of a hotel somewhere in-

The Tracy patriarch frowned, looking at the screen more intently.

_It can't be....?_

All else forgotten, he listened more intently to the young blond's monologue.

_"-and reports have come in regarding what appears to have been a staged emergency evacuation here at Summer Palms hotel. The incident took place early Saturday morning, when the majority of the citizens of Brookfield were still-" _

Jeff glanced towards his sons and grimaced, noticing that all three of them had also tuned into the TV report. John had even allowed his book to close - the page unmarked - as he stared at the screen in stunned disbelief.

_"The situation came under suspicion yesterday evening when ex-astronaut and multi-billionaire businessman, Jefferson Tracy, took legal action against Martha Stuarts, a journalist for ATM worldwide news. It all began with a photograph of Tracy's youngest son, Alan, which was taken at this very spot outside the hotel during the fire evacuation. The incident is currently undergoing investigation, as it is suspected that the employee who set off the alarm on Saturday morning had established connections with the ATM journalist prior to the incident." _

Jeff caught John's eye and the astronomer looked at him with an expression that clearly said _"why didn't you tell me?"_ Jeff gave a half-shrug in apology, remaining silent as the news anchor continued,

_"Martha Stuarts has denied the allegations, stating that she and her photographer just happened to be "in the right place at the right time"."_

Jeff was pleased to hear her almost amused tone of voice. Well, at least one reporter was on his side.

_"Both the image of Alan Tracy and its accompanying article have been temporarily removed from ATM's online news page until investigators have managed to shed some light on the truth behind the impromptu fire evacuation at Summer Palms hotel. In the meantime, Jeff Tracy is pushing for a lawsuit that could potentially mean the end of Miss Stuart's career as ATM's top journalist."_

The Tracy patriarch smirked. _Good riddance._

_ "Although only time will tell whether or not Martha will keep her job, I think it's pretty safe to say that she's learned a valuable lesson when it comes to messing with the likes of Jefferson Tracy." _Her permanent smile widened to infinite proportions and she inclined her head gracefully._ "This is Annie Smith, reporting for IB news. Back to you, Sylvia."_

Pointing the remote at the TV one final time, Jeff switched it off, dropping the device onto the empty area of couch beside him and running a hand through his hair. That _hadn't_ been what he was expecting to hear. He knew that filing a lawsuit would've caught the attention of certain media circles, but breaking news? It wasn't a particularly shocking story, was it?

An uncomfortably long silence stretched out between them and he sighed heavily, leaning forwards and interlocking his fingers together.

"Boys," he began, "I think I've got some explaining to do."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The floor creaked beneath their feet as the two brown-haired Tracys came to a halt at the top of the stairs.

"Do you think he's still asleep?"

Virgil shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall. "Dunno. Probably. It's all the kid's capable of doing at the moment."

Scott sighed sadly, glancing towards the closed door on the opposite side of the corridor, his shoulders sagging. Seeing the familiar look of forlorn guilt passing over the pilot's face, Virgil nudged him gently.

"Hey, don't you even think about it. This _isn't_ your fault," he stated, perhaps with a little more force than was necessary. Dammit, his brother could be stupid sometimes. "This isn't anybody's fault. Look, man, it's just chickenpox. He'll be _fine_."

The elder Tracy raised an eyebrow. "What happened to encephalitis and hepatitis and all the other problems you listed?"

"Those were worst-case scenarios," Virgil insisted, regretting having ever mentioned the more disturbing details in front of his eldest sibling. "Only patients with impaired immunity are at any real risk. In all likelihood, Alan will just have your run-of-the-mill case of chickenpox with no complications. Tom said the only thing we have to watch out for is his fever. Sixty percent of hospitalised adolescents who are suffering from chickenpox are admitted due to a dangerous spike in their body temperature."

Scott frowned. "That doesn't inspire me with confidence, Virge."

"Look, just-" Virgil broke off with a heavy sigh, leaning his head back to shoot a pleading glance heavenwards. Then, uncrossing his arms, he stepped forwards and gently took the tray of food from Scott's hands, nodding in the direction of Alan's bedroom door. "Go and see for yourself. I assure you, the kid's still breathing."

He watched silently as Scott went over to the closed door, raising a hand and rapping his knuckles against the wood gently.

"Kiddo? You awake?"

After a moment, when no reply had come, Scott shot a glance back to Virgil and shrugged, reaching for the door handle. A sudden jingle of a muffled ring-tone made him start, cursing under his breath and slapping a hand to the pocket of his jeans as his cell phone vibrated against his leg. Virgil hid a grin as his brother struggled to fish it out, twisting around on the spot and pulling a face as he fought with the tight material.

When he finally managed to pull it out, he glanced down at the caller on the screen and his face lit up.

"It's Andy," he stated in a hushed whisper, reaching out to open Alan's bedroom door with one hand and - using the hand holding the phone - beckoning for Virgil to go inside. "Look, I gotta take this. I'll see you later, okay?"

Virgil grinned, rolling his eyes as he stepped passed his brother and into the dimmed bedroom, carefully kicking the door to behind him. A part of him was actually relieved that his older brother had been temporarily distracted by the phone call. Andrew Myers, chief medical officer at Boston Air Base, was Scott's closest friend and had been for almost six years now. If there was any one person who could pull the eldest Tracy son out of his irrational sense of guilt over Alan's chickenpox case, it was Andy. If the guy ever found a way to bottle his optimism, he'd be richer than Virgil's father.

Stepping further into the room and coming to a halt beside the bed, Virgil smiled fondly at the slumbering teenager, noiselessly setting down the dinner-laden tray on the edge of the bedside table and slowly pushing it across, using the small lip on the far side of the tray to nudge the bottle of water and the aural thermometer across the smooth wooden surface. Then he carefully perched on the edge of the mattress beside Alan's upper body - the boy was sleeping on his side, as usual, so there was plenty of room.

Alan let out a soft grunt, disturbed from the depths of his subconscious mind by the sagging of the bed as it dipped beneath Virgil's added weight. The middle Tracy son froze momentarily, watching as the younger sibling stirred in his sleep. But Alan didn't awaken, merely rolling a little further onto his back and tugging the light duvet closer about his athletic frame.

Exhaling a sigh of relief - although he wasn't quite sure why, since he'd come here with the intention of waking Alan up - Virgil tilted his head to the side, studying his brother's features for a long moment. Aside from the light feverish flush that kissed the top of his cheeks, Alan's skin was still unusually pale beneath the vivid pock marks, dark semicircular smudges settling beneath his closed eyes as though the fifteen-year-old hadn't rested in days.

_Which certainly isn't true_, Virgil remarked. _All he's done since breakfast is sleep_.

That, more than the chickenpox marks themselves, was what really highlighted the extent of Alan's ill state of health. The youngest Tracy rarely (if ever) went to bed voluntarily, usually requiring a persuasive shove towards his bedroom when it grew too late - a shove which both Scott and Virgil were always cheerfully willing to provide, much to Alan's annoyance. And so to see the teenager so utterly exhausted, hardly able to keep his eyes open for longer than fifteen minutes at a time before drifting back to the land of nod, just felt so.....so _unnatural_.

Glancing sideways at the plate of food on the tray, Virgil sighed. He didn't want to pull his younger brother from his peaceful dreams - truth be told, it was probably the only time when the kid didn't have to fight the urge to scratch - but the plate of pasta would soon grow cold and then the chances of him getting Alan to eat any of it would drop to a futile zero.

Reaching out a hand, he squeezed his brother's shoulder gently.

"Alan?"

There was a slight pause, then two weary blue eyes squinted up at him groggily as the younger Tracy drew in a deep breath, shifting so that he could roll further onto his back.

"Hey," the teen slurred, bringing up a hand and clumsily rubbing his eyes.

Virgil smiled. "Hey. I brought you some dinner."

Alan dug his elbows into the mattress and wriggled into a more upright position against the pillows, sliding backwards slowly and pushing aside the duvet, clearly too warm beneath the thin layer. "How long've I been asleep?"

Virgil smiled softly, glancing down at his watch. "All afternoon and then some. It's almost seven."

"Seriously?" The teenager blinked tiredly, weary surprise tugging his brow into a slight frown.

"Mmm-hmm," Virgil confirmed absently, reaching out towards the coffee table to retrieve the aural thermometer. "How you feelin'?"

Alan grimaced, pressing a palm against his forehead. "Like the Mole's trying to drill it's way through my brain."

The artist nodded sympathetically, putting a hand on Alan's shoulder to still him so that he could carefully insert the tip of the thermometer into his brother's ear. "I got you some Tylenol, but you can't have it for a little while. You need to get some food into that stomach of yours first."

He withdrew the device as it '_beeped'_, sitting back a little so that he could peer at the numbers. He frowned at the slightly higher reading, glancing up towards his brother - who was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes - and studying the teenager's features carefully. Then, with a heavy sigh, he set the thermometer aside again, forcing a smile back onto his face.

Alan yawned and looked at the tray of food on the bedside table, pulling a face as he spotted the plate piled high with macaroni cheese.

"Do I have to eat that?"

"C'mon, kiddo," Virgil nudged him gently, "you love macaroni cheese. Besides, you need to eat _something_. Like I said this morning, your body's gonna need all the help it can get."

"Fine," Alan sighed, scratching at a spot on his arm.

"Hey," the older Tracy pushed his hand away, "no touchy. I can still tape socks to your hands, ya know."

The teenager puffed out an annoyed breath, glaring at his sibling as though his current predicament was entirely the artist's fault, grumpily crossing his arms over his chest. Virgil seemed unfazed by his brother's mood, and leaned across to grab the tall glass of milk from the tray. Extending it to his younger sibling - a peace offering of a sort - he flashed the shorter boy a cheerful smile.

"Here."

Uncrossing his arms, Alan's face softened a little and he managed the tiniest smile of gratitude as he accepted the glass, raising it to his lips and taking a long draught. Virgil picked up the plate of pasta and, when Alan was done drinking, swapped the dish for the half-drained glass and handed over a fork.

"Bon appetit," he said cheerfully, leaning across to set the glass back down on the tray and to tap the base of the small bedside lamp. A bright yellow glow erupted from the object a split second later and Virgil saw his brother wince, ducking his head slightly. He paused, concerned.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," the blond assured him. "But a little warning next time would be nice."

Virgil smiled. "Sorry."

Alan poked at his dinner unenthusiastically, tossing the small tubes of pasta over each other and allowing the creamy sauce to drip from his fork, forming patterns around the edge of his plate. The older Tracy rolled his eyes.

"Didn't Scott ever tell you not to play with your food?"

At the altered phrase, Alan grinned, spearing a single piece of macaroni and cautiously popping it into his mouth. "Ya know," he mumbled, swallowing heavily. "Food tastes really crappy when you've got the chickenpox."

Shaking his head, Virgil explained, "It's just your lack of appetite, kiddo. Once you're over the worst of the virus - which shouldn't take more than a week or so, just until new spots stop appearing - you'll be back to your usual food-inhaling habits."

The teenager took another bite. "I don'ihay'foo-"

"Swallow," Virgil sighed.

Alan complied and tried again. "I said I don't inhale food. With three older brothers reminding me that I need to chew _every single_ mealtime, am I really given much of a choice?"

Virgil raised an eyebrow. "Only three of us?"

"Gordon still needs to be told to chew. Now _he_ inhales food."

"Yes," the musician grinned, "you do have a point there."

The teenager sighed and began to push his food around again, apparently already bored of trying to eat. Glancing up at Virgil, he tilted his head to the side in a questioning manner, a thoughtful expression passing over his face.

"Did you ever hear back from Tom?"

Virgil nodded. "Mmm-hmm. I think I got the whole family medical history regarding the varicella virus, but at least now I feel a little more informed on the matter."

"Dude, when are you _not_ informed?" Alan countered. "You're like a walking medical archive."

"I'm flattered....I think." The middle Tracy son crossed one leg over the other and twiddled his thumbs absently. "Anyway, I've got some good news and some bad news regarding Tom's phone call. Which do you want first?"

Alan puffed out a sigh, frowning thoughtfully. Then he nodded his head sharply, decision made. "Good news. At least then I'll have something to cheer me up when I hear the bad news."

"Well, the good news is that there is a prescription antibiotic that you can take in order to reduce the effects of the virus," Virgil began cheerfully.

The younger brother perked up a little. "Well, that's a relief." Then he paused, looking up at his older sibling apprehensively. "And what about the bad news?"

"The bad news?" the medic repeated. "The bad news is that Tom's flying over from the mainland tomorrow morning in order to deliver the prescription himself."

Alan blinked, confused. "Wait, that's the bad news? What? But dude, that's awesome!"

Virgil chuckled, shaking his head. "Just wait until he gets here. If you think Dad's bad with all his talk of oatmeal baths, it's nothing compared with what Tom's got planned. Apparently, he's bringing some kinda home remedy that he used on Scott and John when they had the chickenpox. I asked them if they knew what it was, but neither of them could remember."

"That sounds....ominous," Alan murmured.

The twenty-two-year-old grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

_It does, doesn't it? Suddenly I can't wait until tomorrow morning._

* * *

_**Next chapter out on Saturday!**_

_**Review please, my dears! And again, a very Happy (belated *sigh*) Birthday to Criminally Charmed. I had intended it to be on time, honest. I even stayed up unti two in the morning, just to get it finished and posted (it would still be Saturday in the US, you see), but alas, luck was not on my side. My apologies. **_

_**Hope Kat's feeling better!  
**_

_**xoxoxoxoxox  
**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**Hey guys!**__** Hope you enjoy.  
**_

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* * *

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"Dr. Palmar is in the building!"

Hitching his dark brown satchel up over one shoulder, Thomas gave a roll of his eyes and strode towards the copper-haired figure who stood waiting for him on the other side of the hangar. Relieved to see the smirk on Gordon's face - stress levels had to be relatively low if the redhead's usual cheerful energy was still pumping at maximum thrust - the old family friend came to a halt in front of the younger man. Letting out a dramatic sigh, he fixed the aquanaut with a look of long-suffering.

"Gordon, how many times do I have to say it?" he groaned. "_Don't_ call me 'Dr. Palmar." Then, breaking into a broad grin, he chuckled, reaching out to pull the Tracy son into a firm embrace. "Great to see you, kid."

"You too," the redhead replied, taking the satchel from Thomas' shoulder and swinging it up and over his own. "How's your morning been?"

"Quiet. You have no idea just how rare that is."

Gordon raised an eyebrow as they began to walk towards the elevator over on the far side of the hangar. "Was it a _nice_ kinda quiet or....?"

"What, are you kidding me?" Thomas scoffed, running a hand through his subtly dyed chocolate-brown hair as he pulled a face of exaggerated disgust. "It was awful. Gimme pandemonium any day. I mean c'mon, you don't run a hospital department unless chaos is your cup of tea."

Gordon nodded thoughtfully. "True." Then he grinned. "I guess the same could be said about raising the five of us, huh? Lord knows how chaotic things could get around here when we were growing up."

Thomas smirked. "Tell me about it. Babysitting you was always one helluva crazy experience."

"Ah, c'mon, you loved it." Gordon stepped into the large elevator and turned around, moving to the side a little so that he could reach across and press a button on the control panel beside the closing metal doors.

Sighing, the doctor nodded. "You bet I did. I used to persuade Jeff into taking your mom out for dinner just so I'd have an excuse to volunteer my babysitting services and spend some time with you kids."

"You do realise that this 'kid' is turning twenty-one?"

Thomas grimaced. "Don't use figures, they makes me feel old."

Raising an eyebrow, Gordon looked the other man up and down. "Dude, you _are_ old."

With practiced skill, Thomas slung a friendly arm around Gordon's shoulders, leaning towards the shorter male and pausing for a moment, gazing at the control panel as he drummed the fingers of his other hand lightly against his leg.

"You're gonna live to regret that, kiddo."

Gordon grinned at the threat. "Oh yeah? Bring it."

Thomas laughed, shaking his head as the doors to the elevator slid open, revealing the long, silent stretch of the lower storage corridor. "Famous last words, Gordo. But I'm afraid revenge will have to wait a little while, I need to see to your brother first. How's he doin', anyway?"

The smile on the redhead's face lessened slightly at that. "Not so good. Poor guy puked up his breakfast about an hour ago. Virgil says it's just the fever messing around with his body, but I can tell he's worried. I think Alan's temperature got a little too high first thing this morning."

"Kid's feeling pretty miserable, huh?" Thomas murmured, glancing towards the satchel that hung off Gordon's shoulder.

The aquanaut sighed. "Yup."

"Well," the older man clapped him on the back and beamed cheerfully, "looks like it's Thomas Palmar to the rescue."

"D'you want me to ask Virge to write you a theme tune, Super Doc?"

"Shut up, Gordon."

* * *

Alan sat cross-legged on the infirmary bed, the elbow of his right arm resting in the crook of one bent knee as he pressed the heel of his hand against his ear, trying to alleviate the burning itch. It was deep down inside his ear - so deep, in fact, that it almost seemed to be coming from his throat. How the heck had he managed to get a spot in _there_? It just didn't seem possible. The sensation was rather odd, far different from the tickling itch of the pocks that marred sixty percent of his body. It was sharp and persistent - almost bordering on painful - and every fibre of his being was telling him that he needed to scratch at it, even if it meant cutting a hole in the soft hollow beneath his ear in order to reach the affected area.

He felt like crap. Hot, sweaty, nauseous, aching, tired, itchy crap. He really couldn't imagine how things could get much worse.

Frowning at the floor, he shook his head, wincing as the movement aggravated the throbbing headache behind his eyes. _I shouldn't have said that. Judging from what Virge said, this **can** get worse. A whole lot worse. Man, that sucks._

To make matters worse, Virgil had begun dropping large hints that Alan would probably be spending the night in the infirmary so that the medic could keep an eye on his younger brother's erratic temperature. The news was hardly encouraging. Although he could at least see where his brother was coming from. His fever _had_ been pretty high earlier that morning.

Letting out a forlorn sigh, Alan glanced towards the door. He wished that Tom would hurry up and get here. He hated feeling the concerned gazes of his father and brothers boring into him from all four corners of the room. They were waiting to greet the old family friend, he knew that, but did they have to keep watching him the whole time? And couldn't Scott just _blink_ every once in a while? It was beginning to make him feel uncomfortable.

_At least Gordon isn't here. I swear, if he calls me his 'polka dot princess' one more time, I'm gonna-_

He was jarred out of his thoughts as the sharp _'hiss'_ of the doors echoed in the eerily silent room and a familiar figure beamed at him cheerfully from the open doorway.

"Did somebody call for a doctor?"

Jeff, who had been standing against the other infirmary bed and was therefore the closest to the door, stepped forward to greet the doctor, smiling broadly as he clapped the other man on the back.

"Tom, good to see you. Thanks for coming out on such short notice."

Thomas waved away the gratitude, clapping the Tracy patriarch on the shoulder as he smiled at the Tracy boys cheerfully. "Ah, don't mention it. You know I'd jump at any excuse to come visit the family."

"You'll stay the night, won't you?"

The doctor nodded. "Sure thing. I'll have to dash off pretty early tomorrow if I want to make my ten o'clock management board meeting, but it should be fine. Now," he glanced towards Alan and sighed, "let's see what the problem is."

It had been so long since he'd cracked a smile that the action felt almost alien to him, but smile Alan did. Despite the initial apprehension regarding the doctor's arrival - or more importantly, his _'home remedy'_ - he had to admit that he was rather pleased the old family friend had come to visit him. Thomas never failed to make the world look that little bit brighter.

"Well, I can save you the trouble of examining him," Virgil offered, setting down the small data-pad he had been scrolling through and crossing his arms over his chest, leaning against the medicine cabinet with a smirk tugging at his lips. "I've already figured it all out."

"Oh?" Thomas asked absently, stepping up to Alan's bed and looping an arm around the teenager's shoulders. "Pray tell, oh wise one."

"It's chickenpox."

Thomas drew back, feigning surprise. "Chickenpox?" He stared at the youngest Tracy in unmasked shock. "Damn, kid. And there was me thinking that you just had some kinda mutated acne problem."

Alan had to grin at that, even if the expression vanished a moment later as a twinge of pain in his ear reminded him just how much his life sucked. Noticing the abrupt change, Thomas' smile lessened a little and a tiny spark of concern flashed in his warm eyes. He pressed a hand against Alan's forehead, eyebrows arching as he whistled appreciatively.

"Whew, somebody get the munchkin off the chili sauce. He's _hot_."

"Mm-hmm," Virgil agreed, brow crinkling into the beginnings of a frown. "His temp reached one-hundred and two earlier this morning."

Alan hated the concern in his brother's voice. Not because it made him feel like a kid - hey, with four older brothers, he'd gotten used to that years ago - but because it made him feel guilty about being the cause of it. It was an illogical guilt, he knew that, but it didn't make the feeling any easier to bear. He _always_ seemed to be at the centre of the family's troubles these days.

"Hey," Thomas nudged him and raised an eyebrow, "it isn't _your_ fault you inherited the danger-magnet gene from your father. Besides, it's not like you're the first Tracy to get chickenpox."

Blinking in surprise - he had forgotten about Tom's weirdo ability to read minds - Alan left the inquiry unanswered. But, since the doctor had clearly intended his question to be rhetorical, he continued on in the same breezy and laid back manner.

"At least you weren't alive to remember the madness that ensued when all your brothers came down with it. I honestly thought that your father would drink Kansas outta coffee. Speaking of which..."

Beckoning Gordon closer, Thomas took the satchel from the aquanaut's shoulder and set it down on the bed beside Alan, smirking at Jeff as he did so. "You been keeping off the caffeine, Tracy? 'Cause you know just as well as I do that thing's are gonna go downhill if I find out that you've exceeded the limit I put in place last year."

The Tracy patriarch smiled and spread his arms. "I'm sure I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Huh." Thomas reached into the satchel and began rummaging around. "Figures."

Gordon beamed, leaning against the side of Alan's bed and nudging the doctor playfully. "Hey, I thought you didn't like figures?"

"Zip it, Gordon."

"The satchel?"

"Your mouth, kiddo."

Pulling out a small, cylindrical medication bottle, Thomas shook it gently, allowing the small white pills to rattle around against the lid. "These," he began, "are measured doses of acyclovir, an effective antiviral drug. Good thing about these is that they don't usually have any major side-effects. Well....unless you're allergic, of course, in which case you're screwed."

Alan raised an eyebrow. "I feel better already."

The doctor beamed. "That's the spirit!" Then he sobered up a little, eyeing the pock marks on the teenager's arms with a sympathetic expression. "You gonna let your uncle Tom take a look?"

The blond glanced towards his assembled family. "Does it have to be in front of everyone?"

"No, of course not," Thomas chuckled. Putting a hand on the blond's shoulder, he turned to face the other occupants of the room and grinned broadly, pointing towards the infirmary doors. "Be gone, other Tracys. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that."

Alan saw his father shoot a grin towards the family friend, ushering his second youngest son in front of him as they headed out of the door and into the corridor beyond. Glancing back over his shoulder, he called out a cheerful, "I'll be in the living room when you're done."

Steering Virgil somewhat forcefully after their father, John and Scott smiled at Alan as they passed by. Alan gave a half-smile back, watching as they swiftly exited the room, the infirmary doors hissing closed behind them. Releasing a soft sigh, the teenager shook his head. He loved his family, loved them more than he could ever say, but sometimes they could be a little _too_ Tracy. Care and attention was all well and good, but today all he wanted to do was curl up in some comfortable hidy-hole where nobody could disturb him and sleep until dinner.

"Well," Thomas sighed happily, clapping his hands together as he spun back round to face Alan, "that's the family taken care of. Let me just grab some stuff and I'll give you a quick checkup. You know me, just wanna make sure everything's in order."

"In order?" Alan repeated, gesturing in the vague direction of his upper body as he stared at the doctor incredulously. "Tom, I'm covered in spots!"

"You don't say." Thomas moved away from the bed and towards the storage cabinet on the other side of the room, opening a number of the overhead cupboards. "Dammit, has Virge done another storage rotation? Everything's moved. How in heaven's name am I supposed to find the- Aha! Bingo. That's where you're hiding."

Watching the family friend in mild amusement, Alan reached up a hand to absently rub at the soft hollow beneath his ear, swallowing again as the stinging/itching sensation began to build up. He grimaced, leaning his head to the side and closing his eyes as a wave of heat rose to his cheeks. The room became overly stuffy again, the warmth prickling at his skin and renewing the irresistibly strong urge to scratch. He clenched his free hand into a fist and shrugged uncomfortably, squirming a little on the mattress as a soft tickle ran up his spine.

"You'd give anything to scratch at 'em, huh?"

Alan glanced up towards the doctor and sighed heavily, nodding. Thomas stepped up to the bed and set down an armful of items on the area of mattress closest to him, sending Alan a sympathetic look and opening his mouth to offer words of reassurance. He paused, however, as his eyes zoned in on the position of Alan's right hand. Brow crinkling slightly, the smile on his face lessening so that it no longer reached his eyes, he looked at the teenager thoughtfully.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked softly. "Your ears aren't giving you grief, are they?"

"Just the right one," Alan mumbled, pressing the soft hollow again and lowering his gaze to his lap. "And it's just kinda itchy. It doesn't even hurt, not really. It's....I dunno, it's weird. It's probably nothing."

"Mm-hmm." Thomas gently took hold of his chin, tilting his head upwards and turning it to the side. "Looks a little pink to me," he murmured, more to himself than to Alan. "Could be the beginnings of an infection. Is it....yup, it's warm. Hold on a sec, kid, let me take a closer look."

He released Alan's chin, stepping away from the bed and back over to the storage units, this time rummaging around in the equipment draws beneath the counter.

"Al, where does Virge keep his otoscope?"

Alan looked momentarily concerned for his safety. "His what?"

"Never mind, I got it." Thomas returned to the bedside and smiled cheerfully, waving the device in the air.

Alan released a sigh if relief, recognising the familiar design of the object and feeling his body relax. So this wasn't the infamous _'home remedy'_ that Thomas had supposedly brought with him from the mainland. _Thank God for that._

The doctor tilted Alan's head to the side again. "Alright, let's have a little look-see."

The cold tip of the otoscope was inserted in his ear and Alan grimaced at the cool pressure of the metal against the warmth of his skin, the expression slowly turning into a wince as the cold seeped further into his ear, transforming the itch to a dull throb. Now that just _sucked._

"So, how's school been?" Thomas inquired lightly, moving round to Alan's left side and inserting the device in the other ear, putting a hand on Alan's shoulder to keep him still. "Beaten Gordon's detention record yet?"

Alan gave a half smile, although it was somewhat lost in the pained grimace. "Not yet. I'm working on it, though."

Thomas chuckled. "You better be joking, munchkin, or your daddy ain't gonna be happy."

"Ah, he's used to it," Alan replied nonchalantly. As Thomas withdrew the device and pulled away, looking at him somewhat disbelievingly, he broke into a true smile. "Yeah, I'm kidding. Relax. Haven't been in detention for almost a year now."

"Glad to hear it." The brown-haired physician set down the otoscope and sighed softly. "Well, I'm afraid to say that your right ear doesn't look so good. It's in a relatively early stage at the moment, but you've definitely managed to get an infection in there. It's a common side-effect of chickenpox, especially in children and adolescents. The acyclovir should help your immune system fight that off, but Virgil's gonna have to keep a close eye on it to make sure things don't get any worse. Which means," he fixed Alan with a knowing look, "that a certain _somebody_ is gonna hafta speak up when the pain gets worse. Understood?"

Alan mumbled something unintelligible and Thomas raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning in closer. "I said...understood?"

"Yeah, fine, I get it," the teenager mumbled.

"Good." Thomas ruffled his hair and beamed cheerfully, before moving around the bed so that he stood directly behind Alan. "Lift your shirt a sec, kid, I wanna see the damage. Virge told me your back was pretty....decorated."

Alan snorted in disgust, reaching back to grab the hem of his shirt and pull it up to just below his shoulder blades. "That's one way of putting it."

For the second time that morning, Thomas let out a low whistle of appreciation. "Whoa. Looks like an explosion in a tomato factory."

"Gee thanks, Doc."

"They don't look too irritated, though," the doctor remarked lightly. "Virgil stick socks on your hands to keep you from scratching?"

"No," Alan mumbled, squirming as the cool air of the infirmary tickled his already prickly skin. "But I have four older brothers and a dad who has eyes _everywhere._ Scratching just isn't possible right now."

Thomas gently tugged his shirt back down and rounded the bed again. "Have you tried using calamine lotion?"

The blond Tracy nodded. "Virge makes me put it on twice a day. He says it's either that or oatmeal baths. And there's no way in hell I'm bathing in oatmeal. I mean seriously, who even comes up with stuff like that? Would you bathe in tomato soup? No, of course you wouldn't."

"Trust me, kid, you're covered in enough tomato as it is."

Alan frowned, the almost-but-not-quite-because-I'm-a-teenager pout tugging at his mouth. "Pick on the sick kid, why doncha?"

"Ah c'mon, buddy," Thomas chuckled, giving him a one-armed hug as he reached for the thermometer. "I only abuse the people I love. Take your father, for example. Haven't stopped teasing him since the day we first met, but he's the closest thing I have to a brother. And Jenny? Well, we may be married, but that doesn't stop me from laughing at her when she walks into every _'pull'_ door in the hospital."

Smiling a little, Alan shook his head. "If I laughed at Tin about stuff like that, I think our relationship would be over pretty quickly."

"Well, Tin-Tin and Jenny are different people," Thomas stated, moving the thermometer towards Alan's good ear and sighing as the teenager edged away. "Would you quit squirming? Thank you. Besides, Jen's a lot older than Tin-Tin. Your sense of humour changes as you grow up."

"This coming from the guy who's _never_ gonna grow up?"

"I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that. Now," he set down the thermometer and glanced at his watch. "This shouldn't take much longer. You gonna be awake enough to enjoy the full benefits of my home remedy?"

Alan raised an eyebrow. "That depends on what it is."

"Aha," Thomas tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially, "that's for me to know and you to found out."

The look of apprehension returning to his face, Alan glanced towards the nearby satchel.

_Yeah. Great._

* * *

Grinning tiredly at the television screen, Alan watched as fourteen-year-old John crept up on an unsuspecting Scott, a bucket of water held firmly in both hands. The image shook as the person holding the camera choked on their muffled laughter, making the two figures move rapidly from left to right, obscured slightly by the giant waxy leaves of the bush the cameraman was hiding behind.

In a sudden burst of speed, the younger version of John sprinted the rest of the way and turned the bucket upside-down over his brother's head as he dashed passed, laughing victoriously as Scott froze with his arms outstretched, water dripping from his sodden t-shirt and shorts.

_"Whoo, yeah! Nice one, Johnny!"_

Laughter floated around the living room as the doctor's cheerful cry crackled through the surround-sound speakers. Alan glanced towards the armchair on the opposite end of the room, where Thomas sat with one leg crossed casually over the other, a huge grin plastered across his face.

"You always encouraged them," Jeff sighed, shaking his head as he absently tapped his fingers against the arm of his own chair. "It was fine for you, you only had to live with this kind of behaviour once a month. You never stopped to consider how it would affect _me_. And you _always_ bought them new water guns."

"Hey, you live on a tropical island, water fights are a mandatory method of keeping cool," Thomas countered cheerfully. "Heatstroke can be a serious ailment, you know. My decision was purely medical."

Beside Alan, Scott chuckled, craning his neck to look at his father. "Besides, it helped to improve our hand-eye coordination. The number of games of 'who can knock the spider off the tree trunk' we played using those water guns....man, we must've hit thousands of huntsmen during the summer. Ah, those were the days."

Shifting in his seat on the far right side of the long couch, patting Scott on the shoulder sympathetically, John smiled knowingly. "Yup. We'll both be six feet under soon, huh, Gramps?"

Alan grinned again, comfortably and content as he listened to the playful teasing, his eyes still glued to the plasma screen TV that hung on the wall opposite him as he watched the younger version of Scott tackle the star-loving Tracy into the swimming pool.

He definitely liked Thomas' home remedy. They must've gone through at least six memory chips' worth of film since that morning. After the doctor had finished his examination and dosed him up on the antibiotics, he'd felt too exhausted to even leave the infirmary and Tom had made him take a nap - no, a _siesta_ - before lunch. But after that? Well, they'd spent the majority of the afternoon watching the family videos Thomas had brought with him from the mainland, laughing as old, forgotten memories were renewed. And for Alan, it had given him a chance to look back at events he could not possibly hope to recall; scenes from his early childhood that had never been converted into true long-term memories. He felt a little disappointed that none of the situations were from a time prior to his mother's death, but he knew that was probably for the best. There were some things his father and brothers would find painful to remember.

"Virge, look at your hair," Scott chuckled, grinning over at his younger sibling as a brown-haired individual filled the TV screen, flour and egg yolk plastered to his scalp.

Jeff snorted. "Looks like another one of your culinary disasters, Tom."

Alan grinned again, adjusting his position and unknowingly leaning further into Scott's side as fatigue began to tug at his weary body. It was getting late. Funny how quickly the evening had passed by. He could have sworn they had eaten dinner only an hour ago. Time certainly did fly when you were having fun.

Blinking wearily, Alan watched as the scene changed, the full-screen image now displaying the familiar features of the living room. The furniture was laid out a little differently, objects and pictures that Alan could only vaguely remember dotted about the place as the camera spun around the room, coming to rest on four laughing figures beside the mantelpiece. One of them - Gordon, judging by the copper hair - was being pinned to the floor by his three older brothers. The camera shook a little as the person filming stepped towards the Tracy sons. Pre-teen Gordon began to squirm beneath his brothers' hold, laughing as he weakly begged for mercy.

All heads turned towards the second youngest Tracy, who was sinking lower and lower in his seat on the couch beside Virgil, face as red as his hair and a pained grimace in place. Alan blinked in surprise.

_Holy cow....is Gordon blushing?!_

"You promised," the aquanaut whined, burying his beet-red face in his hands. "Tom, you traitor."

Thomas chuckled, the sound playfully evil. "I did warn you. I said you'd live to regret that comment you made in the elevator when I arrived this morning. You know, before i got here, I'd originally planned to fast-forward it through this one and save the clip for another day, but now I just don't have the heart. After all, we need to cheer up your younger brother, don't we?"

Alan raised an eyebrow, confused, glancing up at Scott. His older brother grinned eyes sparkling merrily. "Man, I'd totally forgotten about this. Tom, I can't believe you've had it taped all these years and never told me about it. I thought you'd lost it!"

Looking back at the screen, intrigued, Alan watched as young Gordon's head shook from side to side desperately. The boy looked straight and the camera, laughing even as he struggled in vain to escape.

_"Tom, don't!" he pleaded, the grin tugging widely at his mouth. "I'm sorry!_

_"Here were have.....Gordon,"_ Thomas' voice stated, muffled slightly by the slight buzz of the video camera's speakers. _"As you can see, he's in a bit of a predicament. And why is that, boys?"_

_"Because he made fun of Georgina,"_ Virgil's higher-pitched voice piped up as its owner shifted onto his knees, using more force to pin Gordon's left arm to the carpet.

_"That's right,"_ the cameraman agreed cheerfully. _"And what did I say would happen if you boys ever insulted my baby?"_

_"Torture!"  
_

Alan chuckled right along with his brothers as the three voices yelled the answer together. Sparing a quick glance towards the old family friend, he shook his head in amusement. Georgina had been Thomas' first private jet - a machine he and Jeff had built together over the course of many years during their relief periods between rotations aboard the NASA space station. The doctor had developed a rather intimate relationship with his creation, and it had been a long-standing joke that she'd been the only reason he hadn't managed to find a wife. In fact, it was only after Georgina mark 2 had finally 'kicked the bucket', so to speak, that Thomas had found Jennifer. Consequently, Jeff would often playfully refer to her as 'Georgina mark 3'.

_"You ready, boys?"_

Glancing back towards the screen, eager to find out what this 'torture' would consist of, Alan's grin widened as Thomas' arm snaked out from behind the camera and extended down towards Gordon's stomach, carefully, slowly tugging up the t-shirt. Young Gordon began to laugh again, squirming with renewed desperation as the material was raised to the top of his chest.

_"Gordon Cooper Tracy,"_ Thomas' voice began, his tone serious and formal, _"You have been found guilty of the highest form of treason. You must now face the consequences. May God have mercy on your soul."_

That said, the hand began to skim across the lightly tanned skin of the exposed torso, fingers dancing as Gordon wriggled from side to side, howling with laughter. The three older Tracys holding him down began to laugh along with him, the sound increasing in volume as Thomas' fingers began to pay close attention to Gordon's lower ribcage and the copperhead's laughter rose up by several octaves.

"Gordon, you're such a girl," Virgil chuckled, elbowing the twenty-year-old gently as the second-youngest Tracy sank further down on the couch.

Alan's cheeks hurt from grinning so much and he could feel the hot flush in his face as he chuckled at the past event. He squirmed a little in sympathy. Watching Tom's hand tickling Gordon's chest so mercilessly was beginning to make his own skin itch. Of course - as is the way with such things - the more he thought about it, the more irritating the sensation became. At last he gave up trying to ignore it and reaching up to scratch at the spots on his upper arm, pushing back the sleeve of his t-shirt. Just as he neared the itchiest spot, another hand grabbed his.

"Alan," Scott warned softly, pushing the hand away and sending his brother a knowing look. "Don't scratch."

The teenager grumbled. "Not my fault."

"The vid making your skin itch?" Thomas guessed, glancing over from his seat in the far armchair. At Alan's nod, he winced sympathetically. "Sorry, I should've thought of that. You want us to turn it off."

Alan shook his head immediately. "Are you kidding me? This is great! How come I don't remember it?"

"You weren't on the island at the time," Jeff explained, taking a sip of coffee and leaning back in his chair. "It was a Saturday, you had Little League over on the mainland, remember?"

"Oh yeah," Alan murmured thoughtfully, rubbing at a spot on his chest through the fabric of his t-shirt. "Forgot about that. But how come nobody ever told me about it? I would've thought that this would be something you guys would want to brag about."

"Gordon made us promise," Scott replied, pushing Alan's hand away again, this time a little more forcefully as he raised an eyebrow in reprimand. "He's always had persuasive blackmail ammo at his disposal, even as a kid."

"Tom, how the heck did he manage to persuade you?"

The physician shrugged. "He pulled the doctor-patient confidentiality card, what was I supposed to do?"

Alan grinned, shifting a little to alleviate the itch and frowning as his attempts proved to be unsuccessful. "I dunno. Torture him some more?"

Presently, the TV screen went to a dark blue as the camera footage ended, the image of his laughing siblings disappearing in and instant. Crossing his arms over his chest so that his hands were squished firmly against his sides - he had found that this was the only way to resist temptation when his skin was as prickly as it was now - Alan sighed in weary frustration, shifting in his position again so that Scott's shoulder wasn't digging into his temple. Blinking as his eyelids grew heavy and yawning widely, he allowed his head to drooping a little, now only half-listening to the sound of his brothers' chatter as they began to tease Gordon.

Everything was so warm and cozy, he could just drift of to sleep and stay here until.....well, whenever.

"Alright, kiddo, bedtime," his father's voice called gently.

Alan groaned, leaning further into Scott's side, too tired to move.

"C'mon, Sprout," his eldest brother chuckled. "You can't sleep here."

"Why not?" Alan mumbled sleepily. "S'not against the law."

"No, but Tom might decide that a new torture victim is needed," Scott mused cheerfully. "And since I'm not ticklish enough to provide an entertaining reaction, Virgil keeps sharp medical equipment on his person and John scares the crap out of us all, you're really the only option left."

"Hey," John protested. "I'm not that bad."

"Sure, Johnny, sure." The eldest Tracy son slapped his hands against his thighs lightly and sat up a little straighter, pushing Alan up with him, jostling the younger boy into a more lucid state of consciousness. "Bed, kiddo."

With a reluctant sigh, Alan stood to his feet, mumbling a weary goodnight to his family as he passed by and allowing Virgil to steer him out into the corridor. He was so tired, he was sure that he spent most of the short walk to the infirmary with his eyes closed, and the only reason for him not bashing into any walls and/or hard objects along the way was because Virgil kept a supportive grip around his shoulders.

Five minutes later, he was sitting up in one of the infirmary beds, blinking tiredly as he watched Virgil attach the bio-monitor to his right wrist, wincing as the panels above the bed came to life, showing a colourful and all too bright display of his temperature and vitals.

"There," the medic said happily, releasing Alan's arm and smiling at the teenager fondly.

Alan sucked in a half-yawn and jerked his head up as his chin dipped towards his chest. "Can I go t'sleep now?" he mumbled.

"Wait just one more second." His brother held up an index finger, keeping it in front of Alan's face as he reached across with the other arm to grab the glass of water from the bedside table. Handing it to the younger Tracy, he dropped four pills into the teenager's hand. "Tylenol, acyclovir, vitamin C."

Alan raised an eyebrow. "Vitamin C?"

"I'll give you a biology class tomorrow, buddy. Just take 'em and get to sleep, okay?"

Shaking his head and sighing again, Alan obliged, swallowing the pills and draining the glass of water, already knowing that Virgil wouldn't take it back off him unless it was empty. Handing the glass over to his smiling sibling, he shuffled down on the mattress and pressed his warm face against the cool fabric of the pillow, sighing in relief. Shifting to get comfortable, he scratched at a spot on his forehead without really thinking about it.

"Alan, stop it," Virgil sighed, gently slapping his hand away. "Seriously, the sock threat wasn't a joke. Last warning, okay?" The teenager muttered something that his father certainly wouldn't have approved of and Virgil grinned, ruffling the kid's hair playfully. "G'night, Sprout. Hope you feel better in the morning."

"'Night, Virge."

As the infirmary lights went out and the doors _'hissed'_ closed behind the middle Tracy, Alan rolled over, pressing his face into another section of pillow and melting into the coolness he found there. Kicking off the light duvet that had been draped lightly over his lower legs, he sighed, closing his eyes and allowing his mind to drift as the persuasive pull of fatigue dragged him down towards the hazily warm land of slumber.

Through the gap in the vertical infirmary blinds, a single, fat raindrop splashed against the darkened glass, shining in the dim light of the diagnostic screen above Alan's bed. It remained stationary for a split second, a perfect pearl of swirling watercolours, before the shape burst, leaving a long, glistening streak down the window pane.

And with that small release, the downpour began.

* * *

_**Well, at least the chapter was relatively long. That's a bonus, right? :)**_

_**And yes, I gave Alan earache. No, it won't get anywhere near as bad as mine, but I needed to torture him just a little bit more in preparation for the next chapter. :)**_

_**Hope you enjoyed! Review please, and make a sick girl happy.**_

_**xoxoxoxox**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Hey, that didn't take as long as I thought it would. :) **_

_**Thank you for your kindness, support and patience. I only hope that this chapter serves as the reward you all deserve. You guys rock.**_

_**

* * *

**_

Alan had never felt heat quite like this. It seared up his neck and into his face, shooting hot sparks down his arms and legs as he struggled to throw off the thin, sweat-soaked blanket that had twisted itself tightly around his body. The air in the room was not nearly cool enough to lessen the heat of the flames in his skin and he grunted softly, rolling his head to the side on the pillow, trying to soothe the fire that raged in his cheeks and ease the stinging pressure around his eyes. But no such relief was there to be found.

Prying his heavy, aching eyelids open, Alan stared into the semi-darkness of the unfamiliar room, the loud beating of his heart pulsing painfully in his ears. There was a faint noise, a beeping of some kind, sounding out rebelliously against the hot silence of the night. It was low and steady, calling in time to the beat of his heart that pulsed rapidly in his head, his ears, his chest...even in the tips of his tingling fingers. And he was so warm. So, so warm.

Fumbling along the wall for the bedside light switch, Alan pushed himself up on one weak and shaking arm, breathing heavily with the strain it took just to keep himself from falling face-down on the mattress. More heat rose into his cheeks and he groaned, the added burn bringing newfound moisture to his dry and stinging eyes. His clammy fingers found the smooth plastic surface of the switch and he pressed down, ducking his head and squeezing his eyes tight shut a split second later as the small lamp that hung above his bed exploded into a level of dagger-like brightness that drove spikes across his skull and through his temples.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

Pulling his other arm out from beneath the pillow, Alan blinked through the silver dots at the device strapped to his wrist. It was like a watch, only wider and chunkier with a large rectangular screen. He guessed that the fuzzy, yellow, wavering symbols were meant to stand for something, but he neither knew nor cared to find out what they meant. He just wanted to shut the darn thing up and alleviate the painful throb that all forms of sound and movement currently brought to his right ear. It seriously _hurt._

The sting in his eyes too great, he switched the light back off again and blinked rapidly as more dots erupted in front of his eyes. Waiting a moment for his vision to adjust, he pushed himself upright in bed, staring down stupidly at the foreign object on his wrist and tugging at the strap. It didn't seem to want to come off. That sucked. It was still making that awful beeping noise and was starting to-

He paused, a frown tugging at his sweaty brow as he noticed the strange, too-bright colour of the mattress. It was lighter than white, almost luminous, and had a strange blue glow to it that he was sure wasn't natural. Maybe there was.....

Craning his neck to glance at the wall behind him, he winced at the unexpected brightness that met his gaze; the background blue of the giant monitor glared back at him as bars and squiggles in a variety of strong colours rose and fell continuously. In the back of his mind, something akin to understanding began to register, but locating the information was like trying to catch smoke. His brain just didn't want to work. He knew that the screen was designed for something - something important - but the purpose that it served probably wasn't relevant to the here and now. All that mattered was turning off the bright light. It was going to blind him if he stared at it much longer.

Almost without thinking about it, he reached out towards the power socket behind the safety panel next to the bed and tugged hard, pulling out a multitude of wires and cables that he was certain were not supposed to be lying on the floor like that. Somebody might trip over and get hurt. And that wouldn't be good.

What was he trying to do again? Ah well, it didn't matter. The big screen had gone black of its own accord and the light wasn't there to hurt his eyes anymore, that was what really mattered. And the beeping had stopped. Although the screen on the thing strapped to his wrist still seemed to be working. But if it wasn't going to bother him, he could put up with it. Now he just needed to cool down. He was thirsty, too. His mouth was parched, his tongue thick and woollen and his throat dry and scratchy. He needed a glass of water.

Carefully swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Alan slid down until his feet touched the floor. Standing proved to be a little more challenging than he had originally expected. His hot, weak legs wobbled beneath him like sticks of overripe celery and he clutched at the mattress, stumbling as he slowly made his way around the bed and over to the wall. His hands brushed against the smooth, cool surface and he paused momentarily, pressing his upper body against it and sighing in relief as the cold seeped through his damp pyjamas and cooled the burning skin beneath. His hand slid along the wall in front of him and he ducked his head, letting his eyes droop with fatigue, allowing his sense of touch to guide him as he slowly made his way towards the bathroom.

Suddenly, the wall dipped sharply inwards and Alan stumbled, clutching at the corner with one hand as he tentatively felt along the indent with the other. His knuckles brushed against something course and flat, something that moved aside for a moment before swinging back lightly against the back of his hand. His fingers met a new surface - this one cooler and smoother than the wall had been - and he opened his eyes again, blinking to remove the fuzziness from his vision.

A window. He'd found a window. That was nice, he liked windows. And the object batting against his hand was a narrow strip from the blind. Pushing it aside, he leaned towards the glass and pressed his cheek against the icy pane, turning his head the other way a second later to allow the cold temperature to seep into his right cheek as well.

It was raining heavily. In the near inky blackness of the world beyond, he could see the violent splash of each colossal raindrop as it collided with the giant puddle that stretched out across the decking. It looked so refreshing out there in the rain, with no wind and no lightning to spoil the soothing coolness that the water would no doubt bring. He wouldn't have to stay out all night, just long enough to get cool. He was already wet, so his father surely wouldn't mind. There was no harm in getting a breath of fresh air.

His mind made up, Alan pushed himself away from the window and turned around so that he stood facing the exit. He could see the yellow crack that separated the two sliding doors; a grim promise of the painfully bright light that lay beyond. Carefully, unsteadily, Alan began to make his way across the giant expanse of empty infirmary floor. Every step was tentative, unbalanced and nauseatingly disorientating. Gritting his teeth as the line of light between the doors wavered from side to side and the floor began to rock, Alan swayed on the spot. Silver dots swam before his eyes and his stomach churned, heat rising anew in his cheeks as his shallow breathing rapidly turned to heavy panting.

He was going to be sick. It was so hot in this room. He had to escape. He'd die if he didn't get out.

With a sudden burst of determination, he staggered swiftly towards the door, raising a hand to shield his eyes as they parted open before him and the bright light of the corridor lit up the darkened infirmary. Leaning momentarily against the door frame with his head bent and his eyes squeezed tight shut, he waited for the world to cease spinning. It felt as though he were on a boat, the floor beneath his feet rocking up and down with every wave.

_"Alan."_

Head snapping up in surprise, Alan squinted down the corridor. He could have sworn he'd just heard somebody call his name. It _had_ been very faint, barely audible even above the heavy silence of the deserted corridor. It sounded like Scott....or perhaps John. Maybe Gordon. He couldn't be sure, he hadn't really been paying close attention at the time.

He swallowed, the scratchy feeling making him grimace as he smacked his dry lips together. He really needed a drink. Perhaps he'd stop off at the kitchen and grab a glass of water. Wait hadn't he already done that? Well, he'd just get another one. It didn't matter.

Alan slowly made his way down the empty corridor, his hand pressed against the wall as he fought to keep his balance. The ceiling seemed much higher that it usually was. Even the colourful pictures that hung from the walls appeared to have been elongated. And the passage was far longer than Alan remembered. He should have arrived in the main corridor by now, surely. Perhaps it was just around the next corner.

A flicker of movement up ahead brought him to a sudden halt. There was somebody moving in the main corridor, he could hear them. And it certainly wasn't one of his brothers. It was tall and dark and menacing and not at all welcome. He'd only seen it for a split second, but he could sense that it was something to be wary of. Perhaps leaving the infirmary had been a bad idea, it wasn't safe out here.

A soft _'hiss'_ echoed from further up the corridor, sending cold shivers down Alan's spine as his fingers began to tingle. His heart thumped loudly against his ribcage and he swallowed again to soothe the violent churning in his stomach. It was behind him, standing just around the corner. It was watching him. He could feel its cold anger.

_Run. Gotta get out._

Using a strength that he didn't know he possessed, Alan broke into an unsteady jog, stumbling repeatedly against the wall as he hurried down the main corridor towards the front of the villa. The figure seemed to be waiting for him within every open doorway he passed, its eyes boring into Alan's as the teenager glanced fearfully into the darkened rooms. It was taunting him, always remaining one step ahead of his movements. There was no way of escaping, nowhere to run.

He had to get out of the villa, there were too many places for it to hide in here. Out in the open it couldn't stay hidden for long. At least Alan could avoid it if he could see where it was.

The heat stung in his cheeks as he panted heavily, his weary and aching legs refusing to run any further. He was so dizzy. The floor and walls seemed to expand and contract before his very eyes, the ornament stand along the left hand side of the corridor moving closer and closer towards him, only to slide back to its original position whenever he blinked. There was something very wrong with the place. It was like being trapped in a nightmare.

Alan could see the closed double doors at the end of the corridor. It was only another fifteen metres or so, then he'd be safe.

He had to keep going.

**TB-TB-TB**

Virgil stepped out of his steamy bathroom, shivering slightly at the drop in temperature as the cool bedroom air chilled the droplets of water that ran down his bare chest. Running a hand through his damp hair, he glanced towards the antique clock that sat on the shelf above his desk and sighed heavily.

_This __**never**__ happens to me. Sure, I see the clock strike three all the time when we're on call, but at home? I'm always out like a light by twelve, I never suffer from this kind of insomnia. Dammit, what's wrong with me?_

He finished towelling himself dry and opened a drawer to select a fresh pair of pyjamas. Unfortunately, the shower seemed to have had the opposite effect to what he had intended. Instead of helping him relax, the warmth of the water had boosted his mind into a higher state of alertness. He felt wide awake. Why, he was practically ready to start the day, despite not having slept a wink in over twenty hours. It was seriously starting to bug him.

Tugging on the cotton shorts, he grabbed an old t-shirt and pulled it over his head, plonking himself down on the edge of his bed as he began to wrestle his arms into the sleeves. He didn't even feel like _trying_ to go to sleep anymore. Something was nagging at him, something he felt was important. And the only problem with that? He had no idea what that something was.

Bending down to retrieve the towel he had allowed to fall to the floor, Virgil scrubbed at his hair roughly, frowning to himself as he tried to work out what was bothering him. He'd had such a good day, too. Thomas' arrival had certainly helped to boost morale in the Tracy household. It was just a shame that the old family friend would be returning to the mainland in four hours or so.

_Four hours. Man, that sucks. Even if I do manage to get to sleep, I'll have to be up and about again by seven to say goodbye to Tom and check on-_

Pausing mid-thought, Virgil slowly pulled the towel off his head and glanced towards the portable monitor on his desk. He'd taken it from the infirmary and linked it up to the bio-monitor above Alan's bed so that he would be able to keep an eye on his brother's condition without waking the teenager from his slumber. In turn, he'd linked the infirmary monitor to a wrist bio-scanner so that the kid wouldn't have to be wired into the machine directly. Alan hated monitor pads and, Virgil had to admit, wearing sticky pads on already-irritated skin would have been a nightmare. Although, having said that, it was unlikely that his brother would have noticed the difference, he'd been so exhausted when Virgil had settled him in the infirmary for the night.

His brow crinkled into a deeper frown as he stood up and walked towards the desk monitor. Something was very wrong. Where there should have been coloured bars and wavering lines and big, white, fluctuating vital readings, there was nothing. Just a blank, blue screen.

Tapping the reflective surface with the pad of his index finger, Virgil felt his eyes narrow. What was the point in having such advanced technology if it never worked when you needed it to?

With a huff of frustration, the medic grabbed his bathrobe and headed towards the door, thrusting his arms through a sleeves as he padded softly across the corridor, his feet making quiet, sticky noises as the wet soles pulled away from the smooth linoleum vinyl flooring.

The infirmary doors slid open before him with a sharp '_hiss_' as he fastened the tie around his waist. Glancing up as the light from the corridor flooded the spacious room and illuminated the objects within, Virgil brushed his hair back and entered the room. He had barely taken a step towards the far bed when he froze, the frown sliding back into place as he stared at the empty mattress. Reaching out towards the light switch on the panel beside the door, he rotated the knob three-hundred and sixty degrees - originally, he had only been intending to switch it to one quarter light intensity so that he wouldn't disturb his brother, but that plan was no longer applicable to the present situation. Alan had already been disturbed from his slumber.

"Alan?"

Virgil jogged over to the open door of the bathroom, switching on the light and peering inside. Images of his brother lying unconscious on the floor in front of the toilet vanished as quickly as they had appeared and Virgil sighed a little in relief as he was met with an empty room. So maybe Alan was just being Alan and had gotten bored of being stuck in the infirmary. The kid had probably just gone back to his own bedroom.

Returning to the empty infirmary bed, Virgil glanced up at the dark overhead monitor and raised a confused eyebrow. Even if Alan was too far away from the diagnostic machine to give a vitals reading, the device shouldn't have just switched itself off. Something wasn't quite right here.

A glance at the power socket told him everything he needed to know. The problem clearly hadn't been caused by a technical glitch.

_The kid better have a damn good reason for messing with my equipment. Escaping's one thing, but turning off the monitors? That's low. When I find him, I'm gonna bring him back here and tie him to the bed._

Plugging the wires back into the power socket, Virgil waited impatiently for the system to re-boot itself. _If he's damaged my bio-scanners, I'm so getting Dad to confiscate his motocross bike. Not that he can use it in his present condition anyway....but still, it's the principle that matters._

The screen turned its usual blue for a moment, before a set of vital readings appeared in full colour, the bars and figures no longer fluctuating. It was clearly the saved data from the reading that the monitor had recorded just before the power supply had been cut off. Well, at least the scanner's memory still seemed to be intact. No damage there, then. All the readings seemed to be present, although....

Something cold and unpleasant sank to the pit of Virgil's stomach as he studied the readings more closely. Either the bio-scanner _had_ been experiencing technical difficulties or things had taken a drastic turn for the worse. And with a fever like that, who knows what Alan had been thinking when he'd left the infirmary?

He needed to find his brother. Now.

_**TB-TB-TB**_

Turning the handle on the left hand door, Alan pulled it open, staring out into the darkness beyond. The light from the corridor shone through the glass doors and lit up the area, providing sufficient light without aggravating the teenager's headache. He could get used to this.

The sound of the rain falling was far louder than he ever could have imagined, drowning out the noise of the door closing. Water poured down in two miniature waterfalls at the corners of the roof that extended over the sitting area on the upper decking. Alan walked out as far as he dared, coming to stand against the wooden railing at the edge of decking, close enough to the house to remain protected from the torrential downpour by the roof.

It was cooler outside and Alan sighed in relief as the fire in his skin lessened a little. He was disappointed that there was no wind - a light breeze would have helped to cool his burning face and neck - but the lack of painfully bright light was a blessing. The only unnatural light of which to speak came from the underwater lighting within the two rectangular pools. The strange, almost mystical glow turned the water a bright aqua-blue, the heavy rainfall making the surface ripple and quiver before his eyes. They looked like magical pools from some children's fairytale he'd had read to him long, long ago.

He was still so hot. He couldn't understand it. What more did he have to do? He needed to cool down, it felt so awful and the world seemed so hazy and vague and _big_. He wanted to sleep, he was so tired, but he couldn't go back inside. Not with _It_ following him around. He was safe out here, at least for the moment, but he would have to stay here until his brothers found him.

Thinking of his family brought a new question to his mind. Where _were_ his brothers? He hadn't seen them in the villa. Perhaps they weren't there anymore, perhaps they had chosen to escape to someplace where the temperature was cooler and the sky wasn't so dark.

_But what if __**It**__ has them?_

Fear coiled around his chest like a rope and he tightened his grip on the railing, tears pooling in his eyes. He knew it had to be true. That's what had happened. The thing in the villa had his family and now it wanted him too. They were gone, and he was alone.

And with that realisation, getting wet didn't matter anymore. He was going to die anyway, and he was so warm, he needed to do something to ease the burn. His legs ached and his arms throbbed in protest as he leaned forwards against the railing, leaving the safety of the roof and allowing the rain to soak his head and shoulders. The cold water seeped through the material of his t-shirt and trickled down his chest, bringing with it such a wonderful sense of relief that Alan nearly lost his balance as his body sagged against the wooden frame.

Suddenly, he heard a soft _'thunk'_ from somewhere on the other side of the dark sitting area. Yanking his head and shoulders back under the roof, he stared into the darkness, holding his breath as the sound of falling rain roared in the background. In the pale moonlight, he could vaguely make out the shapes of the chairs, the glass table-tops glinting at him coldly. Something moved, a shadow flickered, and he sucked in a sharp breath, taking a rapid step backwards and gripping onto the wooden railing for support as his legs went numb.

_It_ was outside.

_**TB-TB-TB**_

Somebody was shaking him from pleasant dreams, pulling him rapidly towards consciousness, very much against his will.

"Scott! Scott, wake up!"

The panicked tone registered immediately and something switched on in his brain. Scott had pushed himself up one arm before his eyes had even opened. Fully awake and pumping with fear-fuelled adrenaline, he stared into the concerned hazel eyes of his younger brother as Virgil leaned over him, a hand still tightly grasping his shoulder.

"What is it?" the older Tracy demanded, his voice low and hoarse from sleep. "Virgil, what's wrong?"

Virgil's face was tight with worry. "It's Alan, Scott. He's missing."

* * *

_**Duh-duh-dun!**_

_**Ah, evil cliffies. How I've missed you. But I bet you guys didn't miss 'em much, huh? Mwahaha. More out in a week or so. **_

_**Review, please! :)**_

_**xxx**_


	11. Chapter 11

**_So many wonderful reviews! Did I ever tell you how awesome you guys are? I did? Well, allow me to reiterate. You're awesome! :)_**

**_I was gutted that fanfiction was throwing a wobbly last weekend (that being the only time that I'm readily available to type). Again, many thanks for your patience. College work is a bit of a nightmare at the moment (the long push from October to Christmas always is), but I'm doing much better now that I'm restored to full health once again. And I can hear out of both my ears! Whoot!  
_**

**_And now the long-awaited continuation. Bon appetit, mes copains.  
_**

* * *

Alan gripped onto the damp, slippery handrail, his eyes fixed on the inky shadows that engulfed the far corner of the upper decking and spanned out across the floor; thick, dark fingers creeping around the chair legs and slowly reaching out towards him.

Inch by shaking inch, he crept backwards, moving away from where he knew the creature was hiding. Heavy rain splattered against his warm, shirt-clad back as he left the protective cover of the roof, clutching onto the rail with greater desperation as the ground gave way beneath his heel and he jerked downwards onto a cold step, the wet ridges pressing against the sole of his bare foot. The cold water seeped through his top, cementing the cloth to his skin in a way that made it tickle strangely, as though an army of ants were crawling down his back.

Then he saw it: a tiny flicker in the corner of the wide shaft of light that streamed out across the centre of the decking from the glass in the double doors. The creature had moved. But where was it? The world was dark, so dark, he couldn't see it. And weird silvery spots had begun to dance in front of his eyes, obscuring his vision. Was it snowing? No, it couldn't be. It only snowed at Christmas.

The shadow moved again and Alan sucked in a sharp, panicked breath. Hot, quivering legs stumbling uncertainly as he felt for the next step, he gritted his teeth in determination and continued his descent, even as the rain began to drench his hair and trickle into his eyes. He hastily swiped an arm across his face to clear his vision, but that only seemed to encourage the water to flow faster. Panic began to build up within him as he struggled to blink the stinging raindrops from his eyes, squinting as best he could through the gloom and feeling for the next step. He couldn't look away, not even for a second, or _It_ would attack him.

However, the shadowy form made no further move to follow him. Now that he was out in the downpour, it had stopped. Perhaps the creature had a weakness after all?

_Yeah, that must be it. That's why it hasn't tried to kill me, it doesn't like the rain. Maybe it gets hurt if it touches water._

He shook his head, berating himself for neglecting to realise something so blatantly obvious. Everybody knew that _It_ couldn't stand getting wet. He should have remembered such a basic fact, why hadn't it occurred to him before? It was probably his headache; it was distracting him, making it difficult to think straight. It didn't matter now, anyway. As long as he stayed out in the open, he'd be safe.

But how long until the downpour ceased? The rain was always heavy and intense, but it never lasted longer than a few hours, not unless there was lightning and thunder and wind - then it could last for days. And the moment the rain stopped, _It_ would come after him. There would be nowhere to hide out in the open. He didn't dare go into the jungle; the creature could climb trees in seconds, he'd never be able to escape. He would just have to wait here and pray that somebody came to rescue him.

He shook his head again, stumbling slightly as he continued to back away from the bottom step, out across the lower decking. Even if - by some freakish stroke of luck - somebody found him before the rain stopped, he'd still be without his family. And what was the point in living out the rest of his life all alone? He couldn't go on, not without his brothers. But it was too late to save them. His family was gone, killed by the same monster that now hunted him. There was nobody left. Only _It_.

The enormity of his situation rose up to meet him like a punch to the gut and he staggered forward against a nearby plastic deck chair, breathing heavily. His fingers squeaked against the smooth, wet surface as he sank to his knees, the deep puddle sloshing around his legs and soaking his pyjama shorts. His throat grew sore and his chest painfully tight as hot tears burned in his eyes. He was going to die.

Slumping against the side of the chair, Alan hugged his knees to his chest and buried his head in his arms, feeling the heavy raindrops crashing against his sodden t-shirt and bare skin. Away from the house, the full sound of the downpour seemed almost deafening; thousands of drops slamming against the waxy leaves of the jungle vegetation with unmatched fury, the cumulative screaming hiss they created thundering in his ears as he squeezed his eyes tight shut and willed it all to end.

Yet still the rain continued to fall.

_**TBTBTB**_

Scott swore under his breath, slamming his hand against the light-switch and plunging the dining room into darkness. The frantic minutes he had spent searching seemed like hours, every empty room adding another kilo of weight to the cold, heavy mass of worry and fear that had settled itself in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't believe his brother had actually escaped from the infirmary. They'd joked about it often enough - Tracys were known for their stubborn nature when it came to bed rest - but for it to actually happen? It was all so surreal.

_We'll find him_, he assured himself for what felt like the hundredth time since Virgil had woken him up almost ten minutes ago. _He'll be fine.  
_

Virgil had expressed his concerns regarding Alan's spiking temperature earlier that day, but Scott had never imagined that it would result in anything so serious. And now the whole villa was awake and hunting for the youngest Tracy. Having discovered that Virgil had already checked all of the obvious locations, Scott had used his wrist-comm to sound the alert and send his father and brothers off in different directions to search for the missing teenager.

Things would have been far easier if Virgil hadn't removed Alan's watch earlier that evening. But the unfortunate location of a particularly irritated pock mark on Alan's right wrist had apparently persuaded the middle Tracy to attach the bio-monitor to his brother's left wrist instead. The watch had been placed on the bedside table in the infirmary, resulting in noting but frustration when Gordon had tried scanning for Alan's transmission signal.

And, to make matters worse, Virgil was now adamant that he was solely to blame for their current predicament. Things were rapidly going downhill.

_I'm gonna need to talk to him about that later,_ Scott reminded himself, striding swiftly down the main corridor towards the front living room. It hadn't been anybody's fault. And, even if he did feel a tad guilty himself about leaving Alan unsupervised, he wasn't going to let it bother him at the moment. There would be time for that later. Right now, Scott needed to find his little brother.

When a thorough search of the living room failed to produce positive results, Scott huffed out a frustrated breath and punched the wall of the corridor in anger. Slumping against it, he shook his head, raising his left arm and angling it so that the tiny microphone at the top of the watch was facing him. Tapping the centre twice to create a connection with his father's watch, he cleared his throat.

"Dad, it's Scott. I've checked the ground floor, he's nowhere in sight. Please tell me you've had better luck?"

_"Wish I could, Son," _the senior Tracy replied, his voice grim as it buzzed through the tiny speaker. _"Listen, Tom's run up to the office to begin analysing the security footage. There isn't a corridor in the whole complex that we don't have under __surveillance__. The cameras will lead us to your brother's whereabouts. I'll alert you as soon as he finds anything."_

Scott nodded, even though his father couldn't see him. "Understood. Scott out."

Terminating the connection, he dragged a hand down his face and sighed deeply, shaking his head. Pushing himself away from the wall, he spared the briefest of glances towards the darkened glass of the double doors at the end of the corridor.

He paused, his frown deepening as his brain registered the odd way in which the light shined off one of the door handles. Almost as though it was.....wet.

Striding towards the door, hope and fear bubbling up within his chest in unison, Scott reached out a hand and ran the tips of his fingers over the top of the handle, eyes widening as he felt the moisture against his skin. Not once had it occurred to him that Alan could have gone outside. How could he have been so stupid? They'd been looking inside, when all the while Alan had been out there, exposed to the elements.

_Aw damn. Damn!  
_

Crouching down beside the table that ran alongside the right hand wall in front of the twin doors, Scott felt beneath it for the emergency kit, grabbing onto the giant plastic container and yanking it towards him. Ripping the lid off and tossing it aside, he haphazardly threw unneeded objects across the laminate flooring of the empty corridor as he frantically dug for the giant flashlight. Locating said item, he jumped to his feet and kicked the box back under the narrow table, pausing long enough to switch on the flashlight before darting towards the door.

Flinging it open, he stepped out into the darkness beyond the threshold, wincing a little at the unexpected volume created by the heavy downpour. The extent Brains had gone to in order to sound-proof the villa was more noticeable than ever.

Knowing that every second mattered, he wasted no time in directing the beam of light around the upper decking, watching the dark shadows scuttle backwards as light weaved its way in between the chairs and tables.

"Alan!" he yelled, his voice drowned by the screaming hiss of the rain. "Alan!"

Unable to see his brother anywhere in the near vicinity, he turned so that the powerful torch beam lit up the steps and the lower decking beyond. His heart thudded against his ribcage, blood pulsing in his ears as he peered through the sheets of falling droplets, following the channel of light with his eyes.

Then he saw him. Hair darkened by the rain and slicked down flat atop his head, pock-marked bare skin almost luminous in the glow of the flashlight, Alan sat huddled behind one of the larger deckchairs, his face buried in his arms and his legs tucked up against his chest as he tried to hide from the merciless downpour.

A relieved exhaustion swept over him, and Scott descended the stairs and jogged towards his brother on legs that were suddenly bone-weary. Dropping to his knees beside the teenager, he allowed the flashlight to slip from his grasp and fall onto the decking with a loud _'thunk'_, water splashing up into his face as it connected with the deep puddle that surrounded them.

The sound was loud enough to be heard above the noise of the rain and Alan jerked in response, head snapping upwards a little before slowly rising the rest of the way, as though it were abnormally heavy and, therefore, difficult to move.

"Alan," Scott was breathing heavily, although it was more from shock than from actual physical exertion, "thank God. We've been looking everywhere for you!"

For a long moment, Alan seemed to stare through him, his brow crinkling into a slight frown. The beam of the flashlight - although not directed towards Alan's face - was bright enough that it lit up their immediate surrounding, and Scott could clearly see the dazed expression his younger sibling wore.

Reaching out towards his brother, he brushed a thumb over Alan's damp and burning cheek, jerking his hand away in surprise a split second later when the teenager let out a hoarse whimper and curled in on himself, the dazed expression morphing into one of total fear.

"No," the bedraggled blond creaked, his voice barely distinguishable above the roar of the downpour. He scrabbled further backwards, pushing the deckchair dangerously close to the pool's edge.

"Hey, hey, easy," Scott soothed, moving forwards again and gripping Alan's shoulder gently, using the other hand to brush the sopping wet fringe away from the boy's fevered brow. "It's alright, it's me."

The teenager shook his head, shying away from his brother's touch, whimpering again as Scott followed his movements and refused to let go. "No. No, please..."

"Alan," Scott said, a little more forcefully. As the younger Tracy let out another choked cry of fear and turned his head away, the pilot grew more gentle, cupping his brother's cheek. "Alan, it's me, it's Scott. C'mon, kiddo, listen to me. You know my voice, right?"

Alan leaned away from him, squinting up at his older sibling's face in the dim yellow glow of the flashlight. Then he stilled, recognition dawning in his eyes as the pained frown that marred his brow melted and the fear drained away.

"Scott?"

His heart still beating painfully against his ribcage, Scott nodded his head, brushing his thumb over the too-warm skin. "Yeah. Yeah, kiddo, it's me."

"But," Alan struggled to form the words, his breathing laboured as he fought to keep his wavering gaze focused on his brother. "But you...you died. It got you. You can't...you can't be here."

Scott couldn't for the life of him understand what the younger Tracy was talking about. But that wasn't important now.

"It didn't get me, Al," he assured the confused boy. "I'm fine, see? Everything's fine."

Alan's eyes closed and he clutched weakly at the hand on his shoulder. "Thought I was alone," he murmured, his voice so quiet that Scott had to strain to hear him above the splashing rain. "Don't...don't wanna be alone."

Scott squeezed the shoulder reassuringly. "I know, buddy, it's okay. I'm not gonna leave you alone, I promise. I'm gonna get you back inside, alright?"

"No!" Alan's eyes shot open, glassy blue orbs shining with fear as his breathing became erratic once more. "Not inside. Scott we....it's still there, we can't! Please!"

"Hey, shh, it's okay." Scott held Alan by the shoulders to prevent him from pushing the chair over the edge of the pool.

"But...stay here....please."

Pressing a hand to Alan's damp forehead, Scott winced at the fierce heat that radiated back into his palm. He allowed the hand to gently travel down the side of his brother's face, pausing at the neck as he pressed two fingers against the teenager's carotid pulse with practised ease. The rapid fluttering beneath his fingertips did not help to lessen the fear that was steadily growing within his chest. Dropping his hand, Scott leaned forward so that his face was inches away from his brother's.

"Alan, listen to me," he said, speaking slowly and clearly in an attempt to convey the message in one go. "You're sick, kiddo. And I know this must be pretty scary for you right now, but I need you to trust me, okay? Can you do that?"

Nodding slowly, the teenager curled into a tighter ball, chin dipping towards his chest as exhaustion took hold. Scott nudged his brother's head gently upwards.

"Alan," he called, patting the cheek softly. "Hey, stay awake for me, okay?"

He looped one of Alan's arms around his shoulders, keeping a firm grip on the boy's wrist, and slipped one of his own around his brother's lower back. Hauling the teenager to his feet, he began to make his way back towards the house, his pace painfully slow as he concentrated on keeping his younger siblings upright. Alan seemed oblivious to the fact that they were moving at all, his legs bending like hot rubber beneath him as he stumbled and swayed against Scott's side.

They had made it up the top of the stairs and half way towards the door when Alan suddenly lurched back, his eyes wide and fearful and his breathing laboured.

"No!" he slurred, almost falling backwards down the steps. "Can't...not in there. Not safe."

"What?" Scott's brows drew together in confusion. He had thought this was behind them.

Alan pointed a shaking hand towards the cheerfully lit corridor beyond the doors. "It...it's inside, Scott. We can't go back. Not ever."

_Damn, this is bad._

"It's okay," the older Tracy repeated, tightening his hold and forcing Alan to take another step towards the door. "I'm here, I've got you. I'll keep you safe, alright? Nothing's gonna get you, I promise."

"Scott, no, please..."

However much it hurt him to ignore his brother's fear, Scott knew they couldn't stay out here any longer. Soaked to the skin, Alan's condition would only continue to worsen, and the kid was already sick enough without adding pneumonia to his list of woes.

Practically dragging his brother over the threshold, Scott kicked the door closed behind him, the sound overly loud in the sudden absence of noise. With the deafening hiss of the rain now quietened to a faint, distant whisper, Scott was made aware of how loud and rapid the beat of his heart was in his chest.

All of a sudden, Alan's legs gave way beneath him and he was a dead weight in Scott's grip. The field commander managed to keep hold of him, but was unable to prevent the teenager from sagging to his knees, hitting the floor with a resounding '_thud'_.

"Okay, okay, I gotcha," Scott murmured, dropping down beside his brother and leaning him back so that Alan lay resting against his chest. Holding him upright with one arm, he angled his wrist-watch towards his face, more grateful than ever that Brains had programmed the device to respond to both manual _and_ verbal command. "Scott to Commander, come in. Come in, Commander."

There was a momentary pause, before his father's voice buzzed through the speaker.

_"Jeff here."_

"Dad, I've got him," Scott reported, blinking as water dripped down into his eyes, squeezing his arm around his brother's chest as though to confirm his statement.

_"Thank God. Where was he?"_

Scott used his shoulder to brush the moisture from his face. "By the pool."

_"He was outside?"_ Jeff's surprise was clear in his voice. _"Where abouts are you now? Is he okay?"_

Scott gazed down at the drenched form, watching as Alan rolled his head to the side against Scott's chest, mumbling incoherently. "We're by the front door. And no," he sighed heavily, brow crinkling into a worried frown, "he's not okay. Where's Tom?"

His watch beeped once, and then there was a second voice sounding out against the heavy silence of the corridor.

_"Right here, Scotty. We're on our way down now, we'll be with you in two minutes."_

Scott shook his head, droplets of water splattering against the nearby wall. "I'm taking him to the infirmary, meet us there."

_"Are you sure you can manage, Son?"_ his father asked.

"Yeah, I got him. Scott out." Dropping his arm, he arranged Alan's legs so that they were bent a little at the knees. Adjusting his hold beneath the joints and shouldering one of Alan's arms around his neck, he slowly stood to his feet, bracing his legs against the dead weight of his brother's body.

The kid really had grown over the last couple of months. Funny, the things you noticed when you were carrying your semiconscious younger brother down a deserted corridor at three-thirty in the morning.

Scott hoped it wasn't something he was going to make a habit out of.

**_TBTBTB_**

Alan couldn't breathe. The air around him was thick and hot, pressing against his cheeks with a searing kiss that burnt its way down his neck and chest. It felt as though he were inhaling liquid, his lips tingling strangely as the odd substance filled his chest.

Voices babbled around him, the volume fluctuating from soft murmurs to sharp, thunderous shouts as something pulsed in his ears with a soft, repetitive _'woosh'_. He was there, and yet he wasn't. Sometimes the mattress beneath him would disappear, along with his body, as he seemed to float in a bubble of hot, stuffy nothingness.

And then feeling would return and there would be rough sheets beneath his sweaty fingers, thin shorts clinging to his lower body, a pillow supporting his head. He liked it when he could feel the pillow. If he turned his head to the side, it would cool his burning cheek, if only for a short moment. But he knew that if he waited long enough, the area that had been previously occupied would chill and he could roll his head the other way and get the same result.

It was through repeating this action that the world became less hazy. Suddenly he was aware of his eyes, and found that he could open them. Doing so, he discovered that vision wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Simply keeping his heavy lids from drooping over his stinging eyes was burning up what little energy he retained, and the world around him was hardly scintillating. Maybe he needed to sleep a little longer. Yeah, sleep sounded good....

"Alan?"

Wrenching his eyes open, he squinted up at the wavering figure that hung over him. Calm green eyes and a gentle smile drew closer to him as something cool and solid slid over his forehead.

"Hey, kiddo. How d'you feel?"

Alan wasn't sure how to answer. Was there something wrong with the way he was feeling at the moment? He could feel his hands okay, and his legs were there at least sixty percent of the time, so what was Tom getting at?

His father's head was suddenly beside the doctor's, the Tracy patriarch's brow crinkled into a frown that made Alan's insides tingle uncomfortably. Something was wrong. Alan didn't like to see his dad so upset. He wanted to reassure him that everything was okay, but his brain and his mouth didn't want to connect with each other. For a reason he cold not explain, he felt close to tears. He could feel them stinging in his eyes, the painful lump in his throat growing more noticeable by the second.

The weight slid off his forehead and Alan grunted weakly at the loss of contact. Almost immediately, his father's hand was on his face, a thumb gently brushing against his cheek. Jeff's mouth was moving, and some form of sound was drifting around the stuffy bubble of Alan's consciousness, but none of it seemed to be in English. That was rather frustrating. His father _knew_ that he didn't speak as many languages as his brothers. Why couldn't they just talk normally?

Scott drifted above him, as did Gordon, but they were gone a second later. Alan got the impression that they'd been there quite a while. His father had moved, his head leaning over the bed from a different side now, and Thomas was nowhere in sight. And he was really tired. Maybe he could talk to them tomorrow.

"Alan?" Someone was patting his cheek gently, and Alan realised that his eyes were closed once again. Forcing them open, he blinked up at the three heads above him, watching as they merged back into two. That was weird.

"His blood ox is back up," somebody was saying, from somewhere far off, "and his resps are starting to level out. No change in temperature, though."

Alan knew that voice. It was Virgil, he was sure of it. He wanted to call out to his brother, but again he seemed to have lost the ability to control his mouth. Which was odd, considering the ease with which he could move the rest of his body. But his head.....his head wanted to sleep. That was annoying.

His gaze drifted to the side, even though the action sent daggers of pain through his throbbing skull. The figure at bedside locked eyes with him, a gentle smile spreading over the concerned features and banishing all traces of worry as Virgil uncrossed his arms and stepped closer to him.

"Hey," he murmured, and Alan could feel a hand running through his hair. "Look at who's finally decided to join us."

Alan thought that was a stupid statement. How was he supposed to look at himself? It hurt enough just to look at his brother. And why was it so dark? The faces above him were lit by a strange blue glow, and Alan could see the shadows that filled the rest of the room. Why didn't they turn on the lights? Then again, he was rather glad that they'd forgotten to, because he had a feeling that his head would only hurt more if the world around him was brighter.

He found himself opening his eyes again, unable to recall when exactly they had closed. His father was gone this time, but Thomas had returned. The doctor was fiddling with a large bag of clear liquid that hung off a pole beside the bed.

The room seemed a little clearer now. It was brighter, too. But not because of the overhead lights, they weren't on. What was he doing here, anyway? Why wasn't he in his bedroom? And why did his chest tingle and tickle like that? He wanted to scratch at it, but summoning the energy to move his arms seemed like an impossible feat in his current state of exhaustion. Man, it was hot in here. Maybe he could ask Thomas to open a window.

As though hearing Alan's thoughts, the doctor suddenly glanced towards him, his hands pausing in their task as his eyes locked with the teenager's, a small smile tugged at his lips. He lowered his arms, the mattress dipping a little as he took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Hey, buddy." A hand settled against Alan's forehead for a moment, before moving up to brush through his hair. "Do you know where you are?"

Alan frowned a little at the question, moving his tongue against his dry lips as though the organ were foreign to him. Swallowing thickly, his throat scratchy and his mouth parched, he croaked out a squeaky and pathetic answer that was neither in English nor convincingly masculine. Thomas seemed prepared for this, and a thin plastic straw was tapping against his bottom lip before he'd even registered that the doctor had moved. Sipping at the water gratefully, he didn't even grimace at the strange sensation of cold liquid trickling down into his stomach, too relieved to finally be soothing the dry feeling in his mouth and throat.

All too soon, the water was taken away, but Thomas didn't give him a chance to miss it.

"Do you know what month it is?" he asked softly, one hand resting lightly on Alan's collarbone.

Alan frowned again. He should know this. Why couldn't he remember? What in Heaven's name was wrong with him? Searching for the answer was like ploughing through dark water, looking for a needle. Was that even the right phrase? He wasn't sure. He felt so....so _stupid_.

His eyes stung, and Alan realised that tears were threatening to fall again. But he didn't know why. Sure, his head kinda hurt and he felt hot and stiff all over, but it wasn't enough to make him cry. He guessed it was more out of frustration than anything.

"It's okay, kiddo," Tom soothed, and Alan felt something cold and heavy and wet and wonderful settle across his brow. Somewhere nearby, he heard a soft _'hiss'_ and his groggy mind vaguely registered that the sound belonged to the infirmary door. "You're just a little feverish, it's making it hard for you to think. A few days' rest and some good, old fashioned Doctor Palmar care, and you'll be as good as new."

He wanted to keep his eyes open. He wanted to discover who had just entered the room. He wanted to ask Thomas what was wrong with him and why he itched so much. But his body had other ideas. Slowly, blessedly, but thoroughly against his will, the heavy lids slid closed over his stinging eyes, shutting out the light and allowing him to sink gently towards the comfortable realms of oblivion.

"That's it, kiddo. Go to sleep."

And that's just what Alan did.

* * *

_**Hope you enjoyed the chapter!  
**_

_**I don't like using full-width page dividers, which is why I've switched to the old 'TBTBTB' method. Fanfiction won't allow me to use anything else. I tried about ten different combinations of my usual dividers, but nothing worked. And they've replaced all my previous ones with full-width lines. I'm not best pleased. But hey, some things can't be helped.**_

_**Whatever religious views you have, I ask you to pray for those who have lost their homes in the recent floods here in Britain. A friend of my family owns a house in Cumbria, and it's been utterly destroyed. So close to Christmas, many families will be despairing over similar losses. All I ask is that, snug and warm and dry in your own homes, you spare a thought for those who no longer have one. Bless you. **_

_**Reviews would be lovely. :)**_

_**xoxoxoxox  
**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**Thanks for reviewing, dear readers. I'm having such fun writing this story, and your comments just make it that little bit more rewarding. Many thanks, and a big slice of cake (gluten-free for certain special people) to you all.**_

_**And now, another chapter pour vous. A bientot!**_

_**

* * *

**_Gordon walked slowly to the bedside, glancing from the form of his motionless brother to the family doctor, who sat perched on the edge of the mattress, peering up at the overhead bio-monitors. After a moment's pause, Thomas turned his head towards him and smiled, his green eyes soft and reassuring. Gordon returned the gesture, his tired facial muscles straining with the effort. For the first time in a long while, he just didn't feel like smiling.

"Did he wake up?" he asked, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the slumbering teenager.

Thomas nodded, making no move to get up off the bed. "A couple of hours ago."

Crossing his arms over his chest and absently rubbing his hands up and down the bare skin, almost as though he were cold, Gordon studied his brother's slack features. He felt the heavy block of cold worry that had been residing in his chest for what felt like years begin working its way up into his throat as he looked at the boy. He took in the sheen of sweat that covered the pock-marked face, two dark pink splotches - evidence of the boy's fever - standing out high in his cheeks against the pallor of the rest of his skin. And it all made his stomach twist.

"How is he?"

Thomas carefully draped a wet washcloth across the Alan's forehead, brushing the hair aside with the back of his fingers. "Better," he replied softly. "His temp's down by half a degree and he's growing more lucid by the hour. Things are looking up."

The aquanaut dropped into the chair at the bedside, dragging a hand down his face as he sighed wearily. It had been over three days since Alan had gone AWOL, and still he burned with a fever that would not abate. At first, they'd all hung around the infirmary, hoping that Alan would wake up and show some sign of recovery. But eventually, one by one, Thomas had made them leave to get some sleep.

Even Jeff - very much against his will - had been forced to retire to his own bed last night. He'd been using the second infirmary bed the previous two evenings, but his concern for Alan had constantly had him returning to his son's bedside after only an hour or two's rest. When Jeff had looked ready to drop, Thomas had adamantly refused to take 'no' for an answer and had ordered him to bed.

Gordon grinned. The family friend was probably the softest guy on the planet, but 'Dr. Palmar' was a force to be reckoned with. Only he could send Jeff to his room and get away with it.

Thomas and Virgil had been taking turns monitoring the kid day and night, waiting patiently for the teenager's fever to break. Gordon wasn't sure how he'd managed to do it, but the senior doctor had pulled some strings and wangled his way out of his duties at Brookfield Hospital for another three days. Apparently, it helped to have friends in high places – _very_ high places, if what he'd overheard of Thomas' telecomm conversation was anything to go by.

Gordon sighed, reaching out to pick at a loose thread along the edge of the light blanket that covered his brother's lanky body. _Damn, he's getting so tall now._ The kid was normally so lively, it was difficult to see him like this. And Gordon considered himself to be an optimistic kinda guy – in fact, often overly so – but he was so exhausted, it was hard to see a bright side to his brother's current situation.

_I guess there is __**one**__ perk. He's never gonna get chickenpox again. But still, on the scale of things, that's not much to be thankful for, is it? 'Cause knowing Alan's luck, he'll just come down with shingles in ten years or so. Poor kid._

Rubbing the back of his neck, Gordon leaned back in the chair and sighed, looking around the room in an attempt to find a temporary distraction. He didn't like to dwell on the present, especially if circumstances were grim. His eyes eventually returned to Thomas, whose gentle ministrations had not ceased. Feeling the younger man's eyes on him, the doctor glanced up.

"You okay?"

Gordon was quick to force a smile to his face. "Yeah. Just tired."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "I haven't seen you crack a _real_ smile since this whole thing started. Now, if it were anybody else, that would be fine. But this is you. And I _know_ you, kid. Hell, I changed your diapers-"

"Tom, c'mon," the younger man groaned, grimacing in embarrassment.

"-so I can tell when something's up," he finished. The doctor nodded his head emphatically, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied the redhead intently. "You're not okay. And I'm not just referring to the situation with you brother, that's to be expected. There's something else. And it's eatin' at you, I can tell."

"Look, it's nothing," Gordon mumbled. "I'm just worried about Alan."

Thomas shook his head. "It's more than that. In a situation like this, you're usually dashing back and forth between the infirmary and the pool, burning up all your worry in the water. It's how you distract yourself. I should know, you've only been doing it since you were old enough to swim without supervision. And the fact that you haven't put a toe in the pool since Alan's fever spiked – not even _once_ – has me worried. It has your brothers worried, too."

Gordon shook his head. "Tom, I'm fine. I just...I was gonna go swimming this morning, anyway. After breakfast."

"Good." Thomas leaned forwards, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. "And Gordon? None of this is your fault. Blaming yourself doesn't make Alan any better. And the kid's gonna kick your butt if he ever finds out. It's bad enough with Scott and Virgil holding themselves responsible without you beating yourself up over it, too."

The aquanaut shook his head, a genuine smile tugging at his mouth. "Nothing gets passed you, does it?"

Thomas beamed. "Not a chocolate drop. I remember this one time when you were three, and you decided to-"

The soft '_hiss'_ of the infirmary doors halted the conversation just in time, and Gordon heaved a sigh of relief as Thomas' attention shifted to the tall blond who had just entered the room.

"Hey, John," the doctor greeted, his voice soft and warm. "Sleep well?"

The astronomer shook his head and flashed a brief smile. "Nope. But that's only to be expected considering the circumstances, right?"

Thomas stood to his feet and clapped him on the shoulder. "Gonna go grab us some coffee. Keep an eye on things for me, will ya? Call me if something looks off – well....more off than it does at the moment. _Don't_ wake Virge. Poor guy's barely sleeping as it is."

John nodded. "Got it."

"Wait a sec," Gordon looked between the two men, an incredulous frown forming on his face, "he tells you that he's not sleeping well, and that's all hunky dory; but when_ I_ skip my morning swim, it's suddenly front page news in the Tracy household? Am I missing something here?"

"He's a logical creature, Gordon," Thomas explained simply, his eyes twinkling as he headed towards the exit. "Irrational guilt isn't something he's particularly susceptible to. I can trust him not to beat himself up over this. Well....at least not to the same extent as the others."

John glanced from the doctor to his brother and back again. "I'm flattered that you have such unwavering confidence in me, Tom," he began. "But was 'creature' really necessary?"

Thomas grinned, pausing just inside the doorway. "Aw, I'm sorry, Johnny. Never mind, Gordon'll kiss it better."

As the doors hissed shut behind him, John grabbed a stool from nearby and dragged it up to the side of the bed opposite Gordon, smiling softly as he shook his head in amusement. The younger Tracy watched him, almost envious of the calm that seemed to radiate from his brother's form. John leant over to brush the damp bangs away from the washcloth that covered the teenager's forehead, his eyes filling with warmth as Alan stirred slightly, shifting his head a little to the side before stilling once again.

The silence stretched out between them. Damn, but Gordon hated silences.

He kicked off his shoes, scooting as far back in the chair as he could go and carefully crossing his legs, both feet coming to rest on the opposite knee. Leaning his elbows against his thighs, he propped his head up in his hands and sighed wearily.

John glanced up from Alan's face, the corner of his mouth twitching into another smile as he eyed his brother's current position.

"Are you planning on meditating?"

Gordon shrugged. "It's an option I'm considering. Got nothing better to do."

"You could swim," John suggested innocently, his shoulders jerking in a half-hearted shrug. "You know, I haven't actually seen you-"

"John." The redhead rolled his eyes. "Heard it already. You're gonna have to wake up a little earlier if you wanna tackle the pep talks before Tom gets in there."

The blond raised an eyebrow. "How'd he find out?"

"Dude, the guy's psychic," Gordon replied. "Almost as psychic as you."

John smiled again, but it was a little more forced this time. He reached to flip the washcloth over gently, allowing the cooler side to rest against his brother's brow. The persistent blond bangs fell stubbornly back into place and John's brown crinkled just a little before he swept them aside with the back of his fingers.

Gordon pulled a face. The first sign of real annoyance that John had shown in....oh, ever such a long time, and it was directed towards his younger sibling's hair. Sometimes, his brother was _weird_.

"Well, I wasn't psychic enough to realise how sick the kid really was," John murmured suddenly, breaking the short silence that had fallen between them again. His eyes clouded over a little and his shook his head, running a hand through his own short blond hair as he sighed.

"Hey," Gordon argued gently, "there was no way you could've stopped this from happening, even if you _had_ known how bad it was gonna be. Which, quite frankly, would've been a whole new level of Jedi. You can't tell the future, John."

The older Tracy leaned forwards, shaking his head. "Yeah, I know that. But maybe I shouldn't have kept quiet for so long about....ah, never mind."

"Never mind about what?" Gordon cocked his head to the side curiously, allowing his legs to uncoil, slowly straightening the limbs and feeling his knee joints crack.

John glanced towards him for a moment, down at Alan, then over to the door before sighing again. "Hey, what's the use? I've already told Virge anyway, the cat's outta the bag."

Another pause. Gordon grew impatient.

"Johnny, _what?_"

The blond's eyes widened emphatically as he pressed a finger to his lips, nodding his head towards Alan as the teenager stirred. Gordon froze, guilt battling with hope in his chest as he sort-of-but-not-really-because-the-kid-needed-to-sleep urged his brother to wake up. After a tense moment, Alan merely smacked his dry lips together softly and bunched up a fistful of blanket, shifting to the side on the mattress before settling down again and releasing a long exhale through his nostrils.

Gordon sighed. "Sorry."

John sent him a look of long-suffering. "No wonder you used to get banned from the library at school."

"It's not my fault if I have a tendency to read aloud," Gordon defended, being careful this time to keep his voice as low as possible. "Anyway, you're going off topic on purpose. Are you gonna tell me or not?"

The astronomer sent Alan one last look, before leaning forwards with his elbows on the bed and running both hands slowly through his hair.

"You know when I flew the kid home from Wharton's?" When Gordon nodded in confirmation, he continued, "He'd been acting funny all afternoon. Just overly quiet, a little less energetic than he'd usually be. Not _our_ Alan, you know? And then he started getting headaches – pretty early on, I think. Definitely when we were in the restaurant; the kid kept his eyes down the whole time, so I guess the lights didn't help much. Anyway, I had a gut feeling that something was wrong – something more serious than simple fatigue – but I know what it's like to have somebody pandering over you when you're not feeling one-hundred percent, so I just gave the kid a couple of Tylenol and told him to grab some shut-eye."

Gordon inclined his head again, slower this time. "That's what I would've done." The younger man paused, reconsidering. "Heck, that's better than I would've done. At least you didn't make fun of the kid."

John squirmed. "That's just it..."

Gordon's mouth dropped open. "_You?_ You actually teased him?"

"Well..." John rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "I kinda....laughed at him the next morning. He was so drowsy and uncoordinated – I thought it was just from lack of sleep – and he smacked himself in the face when I threw him a Hershey's bar." He grinned at the memory, than frowned and shook his head. "I'm doing it again."

The younger man rolled his eyes. "John, the world's definition of 'teasing' differs greatly from yours. You weren't making fun of him, not _really_. You just laughed. It's not like you deliberately went out of your way to tease him. There's a difference, trust me."

John looked up at him briefly, gave a half-smile, then sighed and straightened up. "Yeah, well, I still feel bad about it. If I'd known it was the start of something so serious..."

"Then you probably still would've laughed," Gordon interjected, smiling himself. "It's a human response, John."

The older man raised an eyebrow again. "Since when have you admitted to me being human?"

The redhead grinned at that. "My mistake," he chuckled. "You're still a-"

"Nnn."

Gordon broke off, his amusement vanishing in an instant as he leant closer to his younger brother. Alan rolled his head to the side, the washcloth falling onto the pillow as his face scrunched up into a frown.

"Al?" John called softly, his full attention now focused on the youngest Tracy.

The teenager grunted again, wincing as he blinked up at his older siblings. He sucked in a deep breath, shifting his gaze from one brother to the other for a long moment, his frown deepening.

"Wha'?"

Delighted to hear the young blond speak – even if the weak croak was but a shadow of his stereotypically loud and energetic teenage voice – Gordon beamed.

"Hey, sleeping beauty awakens. How's it hangin'?"

Alan groaned, grimacing as he smacked his cracked lips together. He tried to croak out something else, but seemed unable to produce anything beyond a painfully dry squeak. John grabbed a glass of water from the bedside table – Gordon thanked the stars that Thomas was as forward-thinking as that – and carefully helped his brother to take a sip. Alan allowed his head to sink back against the pillow, licking at his newly moistened lips and swallowing a couple of times, before shifting his gaze lazily towards his copper-haired sibling.

"Gords....not so loud, 'kay?" he slurred, slowly raising a hand to his face and weakly rubbing at his eyes.

Gordon's smile merely widened. "You got it."

"I know I got it," Alan mumbled, shaking his head from side to side in an attempt to clear it. "That's the problem."

John grinned. "Now that's the Alan I know and love."

Alan smiled back sleepily. He wasn't sure what he'd done, why his tongue felt so thick or how long he'd been lying in bed – because his legs seemed to have cemented themselves to the mattress – but he wasn't too bothered at the moment. It was nice to make his brothers smile.

_**-TBTBTB-**_

"I really don't know how to explain it," Thomas remarked, peering at the readings on the monitor. The assembled Tracy clan either stood or sat nearby, glancing between the doctor and their youngest family member, who was sitting upright in bed for the first time in days.

"I do," Scott remarked, leaning over to ruffle Alan's hair. "He's a fighter. Wasn't gonna let a chicken get the best of him."

Alan grinned tiredly, carefully sipping at a glass of water. "I'll keep that in mind the next time you act like a hen, Scotty."

Scott just chuckled with the rest of them, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall. "This chicken's hard to beat, kid."

"Still," Thomas continued, pressing a button on the screen to view the graphs displaying Alan's vitals over the past few hours, "It's not the first time it's happened. I've seen patients with fevers high enough to boil their brains suddenly take a sharp turn and cool down just as rapidly as they heated up. Admittedly, it's very rarely a viral-induced fever, but it's still possible. What can I say? You're an interesting case, kid."

"Yeah, you freak of nature, you," Gordon teased, still beaming. "Always have to make everything dramatic, doncha? Can't just be a normal little brother."

"Not with you around," Alan murmured, smiling as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the pile of pillows behind him.

Virgil's brow twitched. "You feeling tired?"

"Mm," Alan grunted, in a way that his brothers guessed meant a confirmation of some sort. "Nothin' new there." He shifted uncomfortably, rubbing at his chest through his t-shirt. "And I still itch."

"Well, you're looking a little better," Jeff informed the teen, tilting his son's head towards him so that he could peer into his face. "They've begun to scab over pretty rapidly."

John nodded his head in agreement. "A couple more weeks and you'll be looking your usual handsome self."

Alan snorted. "Are you sure John's not coming down with something? I think that was actually a compliment."

Scott played along, pressing his hand against John's forehead. "Now you mention it," he murmured, looking vaguely worried. "He _does_ feel a little warm."

Gordon grinned. "I know what'll help with that."

John looked between them, slowly pushing his chair back. "If you mean what I think you mean, then the answer is no."

"I'm not asking for your permission, John," Gordon argued lightly, his eyes glinting. "Where would be the fun in that? But you see, me and Scotty have to find a way to release our pent-up emotions. I thought you encouraged the use of our creativity. Throwing you in the pool is far better than fighting amongst ourselves. Wouldn't you agree, Tom?"

The doctor nodded, his face sincere. "Absolutely. You've said it time and time again, John, it's not good to hold in one's feelings. Eventually, you need to find some kinda outlet. I think it's great that Scott and Gordon are together on this; it displays a great sense of unity." He sighed heavily, looking towards the other Tracy sons and wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. "I'm so proud of you, boys."

"John," Alan murmured, prying one eyelid open and gazing at his older blond brother. "I'd take the hint and leg it while you still can. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere....at least that's what I want the others to believe."

"Right." John leapt to his feet. Pointing a finger at Alan, he used his hardest stare to emphasise his point. "Stay, boy."

Alan's lips twitched. "Woof."

Then John was off, Scott and Gordon sprinting across the infirmary after him. However, when they reached the door, they skidded to a halt, necks craning around the doorframe to peer down the corridor beyond. Once John's fleeing footsteps had faded into silence, they both snorted in amusement, shaking their heads. Then, turning to face each other, they shook hands calmly and nodded in mutual understanding, before returning to their positions beside Alan's bed.

The teenager raised an eyebrow. "You're cruel, d'you know that?"

Scott shrugged. "Consider it our way of celebrating your victory in defeating the fever."

"It's hardly defeated," Alan huffed, pressing a hand against his warm cheek and frowning.

"Well, you're not singing about yellow submarines anymore, so you've definitely beaten it on one level," Gordon reasoned cheerfully.

At Alan's look of horror, Jeff chuckled, shaking his head and sending his second youngest a reproachful look. Glancing back down at the teenager, he smiled. "Your brother's only teasing, son."

Thomas set down his data-pad and perched in John's vacated chair. "How much _do_ you remember, kiddo?"

"About the past few days?" Alan asked, rubbing at his neck. He stopped when his father tugged on his arm, clenching the blanket tightly between his hands in an attempt to resist the urge to scratch. "Not much. It's all kinda blurry. I remember weird little things, like...like looking at the window and loving how cold it was. And hearing the infirmary doors open. And I remember getting wet somehow." His brow crinkled and he looked up at his assembled family. "Did I go outside, or was that all just part of my imagination?"

"Nope," Gordon replied, a little less cheerfully. "You did a runner, Sprout. Scared the sh-...hell outta us."

The teenager blushed. "Sorry."

"It's not your fault, son," Jeff soothed, squeezing his shoulder briefly.

"But why?" Alan murmured, shaking his head. "Why would I even _want_ to go outside?"

"Something about shadows," Scott replied, watching his brother carefully for any sign of recognition in the younger Tracy's eyes. "You said the shadows were in the house, that they were killing everybody. You were running from them. Some twisted logic in that brain of yours made you think that the best place to hide was out in the open."

Alan raised an incredulous eyebrow, glancing between his siblings. "You're not even kidding, are you?"

Virgil shook his head. "Nope."

"And I was actually being serious about the shadow thing?"

Scott let out a humourless laugh. "Trust me, Sprout, you were serious. Serious enough to stand in the rain for heaven knows how long before I found you. Shadows don't like the rain, you see."

A grin tugged at the boy's mouth. "Is that so?"

"Well, that's what you said." Scott shrugged, his eyes twinkling. "And you seemed pretty sure of the fact, so..."

Alan held up a hand. "This feels weird."

Virgil leaned forwards, concerned. "What feels weird? You nauseous?"

"No," the teenager snorted, gently batting Virgil's hand away as the medic tried to feel his forehead. "Hearing about all the stuff I did and not being able to remember doing it. I was really out of it, wasn't I?"

"Mm-hmm," Thomas agreed, leaning over so that he could check the IV line that sat in the crook of Alan's arm. "Fever's mess with your mind, no doubt about that."

"Totally. I mean, who in their right mind would snog a deckchair?"

All heads turned towards Gordon and the aquanaut shrank back in the face of four identical glares – well....perhaps Tom's was a little less stern, and the slight upward turn at the corner of his mouth somewhat ruined the effect. Alan, who had initially looked worried, saw their expressions and sighed in relief, before pinning his brother with a glare of his own.

The redhead shrugged, spreading his hands. "What?"

"Gordon, leave him alone," Scott warned.

"It's fine," Alan murmured, eyes drooping again as he patted his brother's arm tiredly. "He's just jealous because the deckchair likes me more than him."

Jeff chuckled, warmth and relief rising up in him as he pushed Alan's fringe back from his forehead. "It's good to have you back, kiddo. I've definitely gone greyer these past few days. You've really gotta stop doing this to me, son, there's only so much your old man can take."

Alan waved a hand lazily. "Ah, you're not that old."

"Uh-oh," Virgil murmured, sharing a worried look with his older brother. "I think the fever's spiking again."

Jeff elbowed him lightly, smiling. "Silence, boy."

"Is there anything else you remember?" Tom pressed, perching on the end of Alan's mattress and fiddling with his stethoscope absently. "Anything at all?"

"Not really," Alan admitted. "It's all kinda clumped together. I'm still struggling to believe that I've been out of it for three days. Not much time seemed to pass, you know? It all could've happened this morning. I think I caught little bits of conversations at the beginning, but not much made sense until later on. And I remember..."

He paused for a moment and Scott nudged him gently. "What? What is it?"

Alan frowned, eyes glinting dangerously as he glared into the blankets. "Janice."

The assembled men exchanged concerned looks. Jeff eventually broke the silence with a tentative, "Janice? Who's Janice?"

A slow, evil smile spread across the teenager's face.

"I'm glad you asked that, Dad."

_**-TBTBTB-**_

John wandered down the main corridor, softly humming to himself. It had been well over an hour since he'd fled – no, not fled, made a logical evacuation from – the infirmary. Clearly his brothers weren't coming for him after all. And although he was tempted to return to his youngest sibling's side, he knew that Alan had enough company already. He'd visit the kid later, when the others were less likely to flock.

His stomach rumbled and he paused, turning around on the spot and looking back down the corridor towards the door that lead to the dining room. Man, he was hungry. He'd skipped breakfast, hoping to see Alan before his other siblings awoke, but then the teenager's fever had dropped and he'd been too elated at the sudden change to think about food since then. But that had been hours ago and now his stomach was complaining about the lack of sustenance.

_Onaha's gonna kill me for leaving it this long. Ah well. Can't be helped, I guess._

As he began walking back towards the doorway, he heard the sound of footfalls behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted the family doctor heading and smiled warmly, for Thomas to catch up.

They fell into step with one another and John sighed a weary but cheerful, "Hey, Tom."

"Hey, Janice."

John's heart flipped and he sucked in a sharp breath, coming to a sudden stop. _No. No way. The kid couldn't have....he was..._

"John?" Thomas glanced back at him, brow crinkling in concern. "Everything alright?"

"What? Oh, yeah, everything's fine."

The doctor smiled. "I was just gonna grab a cup of coffee, you want some?"

The astronomer nodded, regaining his outward calm. "Sure, thanks." _Tom calls me 'Jocelyn' all the time, this is no different. Janice is a perfectly normal nickname - well, normal for Tom. It's got nothing to do with....with __**that**__. _

Feeling a little better, John continued on his way to the kitchen, stepping into the dining room and heading across to the door that lead to the kitchen. He was surprised to see Virgil and Scott heading the other way, strolling lazily towards him with their hands in their pockets. _Weird._

"Hey," he greeted softly, smiling.

Scott nodded once. "Janice."

Virgil slapped him on the shoulder. "Janice."

John froze as they brushed passed. There was a long pause as he stared at the empty doorway, blinking in surprise, mouth agape and eyes wide. Then the sound of howling laughter was heard from both the corridor and the kitchen and he raised a hand, dragging it slowly down his face as he shook his head. His shoulders drooped and he huffed out a sigh of forlorn resignation.

He was never going to live this down.

* * *

_**Hope you enjoyed the chapter. :)**_

_**So things are starting to wind down now. But there's always room for teasing. *grins***_

_**Review, s'il vous plait! **_

_**xoxox  
**_


	13. Chapter 13

_**Hey folks!**_

_**Thanks for your patience, things have been a bit crazy around here in the long sprint up to Christmas. Good news? All my shopping's now done. Bad new? My homework isn't Priorities always go out the window at this time of year. I'm too much of a kid. :)**_

_**Enjoy the chapter!  
**_

* * *

Alan chewed on the end of his pencil thoughtfully, frowning at the complex equation. School seemed like a lifetime ago and he was struggling to recall the simplified method of factorising polynomials that his math teacher had shown him. Exhaling a huff of frustration, he reached for his laptop. Wharton's had math study material on the pupil website; he'd be able to access the class notes from there.

It had been almost two and a half weeks now since he'd come down with chickenpox, and the pock marks were finally beginning to fade. The 'first wave' – or so Virgil had entitled it – of spots were now but dim pink splodges covered by a thin layer of dry skin. He barely even felt them anymore. The most recent batch of marks was a little more prominent than that, but even those blemishes had formed a crusty layer over the top and begun to shrink. His back, chest and thighs still looked awful, but his face and arms were much improved. And the itch was all but gone now, thank Heaven.

With his temperature back under control – aside from the occasional light fever during the evening – he was definitely ready to escape from his brothers' eternal flapping. Thank God that the rest of his family were still sleeping off the effects of the previous day's rescue mission, or else he would've been bullied into eating breakfast long ago.

Waiting for the page to load, he tugged the laptop further across his lap and lightly scratched at an itchy patch on his thigh through the thin material of his shorts.

"Ahem."

He froze, wincing, fingers still bent mid-itch. However, turning his head towards his bedroom door to face his prosecutor, his sheepish smile morphed into a delighted grin. "Tom! When did you get here?"

Thomas smiled, reaching out towards the open door beside him and rapping his knuckles lightly against the polished wood. "House call! Can I come in?"

Nodding, Alan scooted closer to the wall so that the doctor could perch on the mattress beside him. "Just kick the folder outta the way," he said brightly. "It's only math."

Bending at the waist to instead slide the folder across the floor, Thomas sat down near Alan's knees, facing the teenager. He set his satchel on the mattress beside him, reaching out a hand and pressing it to the blond's forehead.

"And how are we feeling this morning?"

Alan frowned. "Majorly stupid. My brain just isn't working."

Thomas gave a slight grin, running his fingers over the scabs on Alan's neck. "You sure it's still in there?" At the teenager's glare, he cleared his throat and dropped his hands. "How are you really?"

"Bored," Alan replied, avoiding the real meaning of the question, switching the laptop to standby and pulling the screen down, depositing the device on his bedside table. "I've been driven to doing math homework, Tom. That's pretty desperate, wouldn't you say?"

Thomas shrugged, dropping his hand to Alan's shoulder and pushing him back gently against the pile of pillows behind him. "Well, I dunno. John and Virgil were always pretty fond of the subject."

"Yeah, but they're weird."

The doctor chuckled, rummaging in his satchel for a moment. "You're all of the same stock, kid. Your dad's pretty weird. Actually, come to think of it, your grandpa was rather odd, too. It's probably hereditary." His eyes grew soft. "Man, I loved that guy."

Alan sat in silence for a moment as the doctor produced an aural thermometer from the bag and inserted it into his ear. The soft _'beep'_ sounded and the device was removed.

"Well, your temp looks normal." Tom beamed, setting the thermometer back in his kit and beginning to rummage again. "Let me just check those ears of yours."

It was whilst Thomas held the cold tip of the oscilloscope in Alan's left ear that the teenager finally put forward the question that had been fighting to break free of his restraining lips.

"Did you know him well? Grandpa, I mean."

The family friend glanced up momentarily, eyebrows raised in surprise at the unexpected query, before quickly returning his attention to the device in his hand.

"Sure did." Alan could see the warm smile that graced his features. "Your grandma was always trying to set me up with some 'nice young lady' she was acquainted with. Your grandpa was the one who rescued me. I used to spend a lot of time at their house, especially during the first few years in the NASA frontier project. My parents were going through a divorce and I needed a place I could call home."

He sat back, dropping the medical instrument back into his satchel. "I had an apartment in the city, of course, but your grandparents insisted that I stop by at least once a week when I was earth-side. Grant and I had a whale of a time poking fun at your dad. Your gramps had the best sense of humour."

Alan regarded the far-away look in the doctor's eyes, his own smile saddening a little. "I wish I could've known him."

Thomas glanced up at that, his expression softening all the more, becoming warm and understanding. He squeezed Alan's knee affectionately. "He would've loved you, kid. You're a lot like him, you know. You may not have the Tracy looks, but you've definitely inherited Grant's personality. He and your mother were very similar, that's why he loved her so much. But I can definitely see characteristics of both of them in you. Grant's sense of humour, his rebellious streak, his stubborn determination." He paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully as humour sparkled in his eyes. "And boy was he formidable when he got angry."

Alan raised an eyebrow. "Grandpa had a temper? Was it as bad as Dad's?"

"No, nowhere near, " Thomas chuckled. "Grant's temper was very much like John's is today. Virtually non-existent until something or someone presses the wrong button, then BANG!" Alan jumped slightly, grinning, as Thomas thumped the side of the bed with one clenched fist, "it's like somebody's dropped an atom bomb. I only witnessed the phenomenon a couple of times, and was never on the receiving end of one. In fact, I think that was the kinda outburst that he only reserved for non-family members who deserved it – like the jerk who decided to get his thrills by driving down a rural housing estate at eighty miles per hour. Nearly ran over Scotty. Man, your Gramps burst a gasket about that one. I doubt the guy ever went near that road again. Fascinating experience, watching Grant blow."

Smirking, Alan shook his head. "Wish I could say the same for John's explosions. But damn, they scare the crap outta me."

Thomas laughed, waving away the statement. "Nah, John's just a big, cuddly teddy bear. Give the guy a peanut butter cup and he's as happy as can be."

"Yeah," Alan snorted. "Take it away and it's a whole other story."

"Well then," the doctor zipped up his satchel and stretched his arms above his head, "you just have to make sure that the cupboards are always stocked with candy."

Alan's stomach grumbled at the mention of food and Thomas laughed again, ruffling his hair. "Good to see that your appetite's starting to come back. You had breakfast yet?"

The teenager shook his head. "Couldn't be bothered getting up."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "But you _could_ be bothered doing math homework? Makes perfect sense, kid. C'mon, I'll walk you down to the kitchen."

"Nah, I'm not really all that hungry," Alan replied, twirling his pencil between his fingers. He'd only get an ear-lashing from Onaha for leaving it so late.

The doctor looked at him pointedly. "Your stomach says otherwise."

Shrugging and shooting the older man another sheepish grin, Alan brought up a hand to gently rub the back of his neck, feeling the hard, rough scabs beneath his fingers. He leaned back against the headboard and exhaled a soft sigh, studying the lines of sunlight that shone through from the bay windows and reflected off the shiny laminate floor onto the ceiling. It was nice to be able to tolerate such light levels again without the constant bother of a killer headache stabbing at his brain.

"Seriously, though," Thomas said suddenly, his expression uncharacteristically somber as he studied the youngest Tracy son. "How are you feeling, kid? I want the truth, now."

Alan sighed again, running a hand through his hair. "Tired," he admitted. "All the time. It's like I can't get through a single day without at least one nap....siesta....ah, you know what I mean. I know I needed rest when I was sick and all that, but my fever's gone and it's still not getting any better."

"It will do," Thomas assured him gently, resting a hand on the teenager's bent knee. "It's just your body's way of recharging its batteries. It's gone through a lot lately. And you've napped - sorry, _siestered _- so often over the past couple of weeks, your body's become acclimatised to that sleeping pattern. It's only natural that it's fighting to keep things that way. It won't take long for it to switch back to a normal routine now that you're almost better."

He looked up hopefully. "I can go back to Wharton's on Sunday, right?"

Thomas nodded. "You're technically no longer contagious now that everything's scabbed over," he replied, "but a couple more days' rest won't hurt. Your ear infection's sorted itself out nicely, thanks to the antibiotics. You finished the course yesterday, right? The little white pills?"

Alan rolled his eyes. "They're _all _white Tom."

"I'm taking you off the acyclovir too," the doctor continued, ignoring the teenager's comment, "seeing as the virus has all but been defeated. So provided nothing else goes wrong, you shouldn't have to take any more meds from now on." He paused, fixing Alan with a questioning look. "What's the situation with the headaches?"

"There isn't one, I'm fine."

"Alan..."

"Okay," the teenager amended, dropping his gaze, "so maybe I still get _little_ ones every now and then. S'not like it happens all the time. Usually only when I'm tired."

The corner of the doctor's mouth twitched. "I thought you _were_ tired 'all the time'?"

Alan frowned. "You're bullying me."

Thomas snorted. "No I'm not."

"I don't like it when you bully me."

The doctor held up his hands defensively. "Kid, I'm not bullying you."

"You're doing it again," Alan argued, eyeing the raised hands with a slight frown. "That's a threatening stance, _Dr. Palmar_."

"Hey." Thomas dropped his hands, wrapping an arm around Alan's bent legs to keep him still. "Don't. Call. Me. Doctor. Palmar!"

Each word was punctuated with a playful jab to Alan's ribs and the teenager squirmed away from him, curling his arms around his midriff in a desperate attempt to protect the sensitive area.

"No, no, no...Tom, okay, I give in," he babbled, trying to fight off the skilled hand. "I give in!"

"Well, that's a start," Thomas said reasonably, continuing with his assault in a calm and thorough manner. "Glad you're finally seeing things my way."

Try as he might, Alan couldn't hold back the laughter that bubbled up through his chest, and he felt his face glowing red as he pressed himself as far against the headboard as he could, squirming desperately.

"Physical abuse!" he howled, weakly pounding at the family doctor's arm with a clenched fist as the man continued to jab him, finding the most sensitive areas of his chest with practised ease. "Stop it!"

Thomas laughed, sitting back and releasing his hold on the teenager, watching with a satisfied smirk as Alan collapsed back against the pillows, breathing heavily. The blond shot him a glare, but its effect was somewhat lessened by the watering eyes and wide, happy grin.

"I...I hate you."

The doctor raised an eyebrow. "Sorry?"

"You're awesome," Alan replied breathlessly, leaning his head back against the wall, chest heaving.

Thomas nodded. "Thought that's what you said."

Alan shook his head, and a comfortable silence passed between them as the teenager got his breath back. The family doctor seemed happy to study the contents of Alan's math notepad – which, in the scuffle, had fallen to the floor in front of the doctor's feet. For a long while, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the wall-mounted clock and Alan's steadily slowing breathing pattern. The youngest Tracy, despite his current state of exhaustion, felt better than he had in weeks. It had been too long since he'd had a...well, a tickle fight, he supposed. They'd once been weekly – if not daily – occurrences whilst he was growing up, but now? Not so much. Man, he missed being a kid.

"You know," Thomas spoke, picking up Alan's notebook and glancing at the rows of equations, "I don't have to return to the mainland until this afternoon. Fancy spending some quality math time with your uncle Tom?"

Alan looked doubtful. "You remember how to do math?"

"Hey," the doctor smacked the teenager's knee with the pad lightly, "I'm not that old. Besides, I owned at math. History? Not so much. But that's only 'cause Sophie Ashton sat next to me. Kinda distracting, if ya get my drift."

Thomas waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Alan snorted in amusement. "I don't think I wanna hear that story."

The doctor waved the notepad in front of him. "So, whatta ya say? Breakfast and quadratic equations?"

Alan shrugged. "Why not? It's not like I'm gonna get them done by myself. Chickenpox has made me into a dufus."

"Nah," Thomas chuckled, standing up and grabbing Alan's pencil from his bedside table. "You're just a little out of practice. Half an hour with me and you'll be top of your class."

Alan stood, swaying momentarily as the gained height made his head spin. Thomas circled an arm about his shoulders, steadying him.

"You okay?"

The teenager nodded. "Yup. Let's go. Try not to fall behind, okay?"

Thomas grinned, ruffling Alan's hair and giving him an ever so gentle push towards the door. "Keep up with the attitude, kid, and I'll infect you with something that'll make chickenpox seem like a pleasant alternative."

Eyes widening dramatically, Alan shot a look of mock horror over his shoulder.

"Doc! Child abuse!"

_**-TB-TB-TB-**_

Stretching his arms above his head, Alan sank lower into the hammock and released a long, weary sigh of contentment. The late afternoon sunshine peeked through the gaps between the leafed branches above him, creating a mottled yellow pattern on his dark t-shirt and highlighting the fading pock marks on his bent knees. He stared at them for a moment, idly stroking the smooth surface of a thick, waxy leaf that had become entangled in the woven network of twine above his head. Looking at the scabs, it was hard to believe that he had once been gravely ill with the virus. It all seemed rather pathetic now.

A loud, slurping splash caught his attention and he rolled his head to the side. Since the hammock was situated on a small, sheltered area of decking a good thirty centimetres above the level of the rippling blue water, Alan had a pretty decent view of the large pool. He smiled as he spotted the familiar – although slightly distorted – form gliding gracefully beneath the surface. If the talented twirl he performed beneath the water didn't give away who it was, the orange trunks certainly did. Gordon's fashion sense had always been loud. Scott said it was merely another method of expressing his personality without getting kicked out of the library.

As the copper-haired swimmer surfaced near the other end of the Olympic-sized pool and blew the water from his lips, Alan suppressed a chuckle. The action reminded him of a birthday card Virgil had designed for Gordon years ago. It had been more of a comic strip, really. It had shown a whale – a whale with a mop of copper-red hair, of course - swimming across the length of the pool before surfacing on the far side, where the family had been gathered around a birthday cake, colourful party hats and multicoloured streamers aplenty as they prepared to celebrate. However, upon surfacing, the whale had immediately let out a sharp puff of air through its blowhole, effectively obliterating the cake on the spot and drenching the family in the process. Gordon had loved that birthday card. He still had it somewhere, Alan was sure of it. There were some snippets of your life that you could never throw away.

Using his body weight to swing the hammock gently from side to side, Alan allowed his gaze to drift back to the green vegetation above him, smiling softly as he listened to the rhythmic sounds of his brother's swift, measured strokes.

There was a reason why Gordon was in the pool for the second time this afternoon.

Tomorrow he was going cold turkey. For seven long days.

Alan grinned, interlocking his fingers beneath his head and relaxing into the soothing sway of the swinging hammock. Perhaps Gordon wouldn't have minded so much if he'd had time to prepare; it would have allowed him to gradually wean himself out of the water...so to speak. However, nobody had expected John to wake up that morning with some _serious_ congestion problems. Hell, John _never_ got sick, so naturally the turn of events was surprising. But there was nothing to be done. John couldn't go up to Thunderbird Five if he was coming down with a cold, and Brains couldn't stay up there any longer. With Alan's bout of chickenpox, the scientist had been forced to remain onboard the station in order to avoid contracting the virus. But now that Alan was no longer contagious, it really wasn't fair to keep Brains up there any longer. Besides, Five was due for a supply run anyhow.

"_It'll only be for a week or so, Gordon,"_ their father had said at lunch; no doubt in an attempt to stop the inevitable huff that would result from the sudden turnabout. _"John's bound to be right as rain by then."_

Alan hoped so. Not only did he dislike the idea of John being sick at all – because seriously, it didn't look like Tracys did anything half-ass – but there was the whole problem with Gordon being miles and miles away from any pool-sized volume of water. The second youngest Tracy didn't cope well in space. He could stomach the journey and the occasional gravity fluctuations just fine, but it was the enclosed space that didn't work for him. It was like putting an excitable puppy in a kennel and throwing away the key. John - being the quiet, mature, patient, calm-natured soul that he was - had no problem entertaining himself with a good book or by continuing with his astronomical research. But Gordon? Gordon didn't do books. Too much sitting required.

_Thank God there's exercise equipment up there. I dread to think what Gordon would be driven to do if it weren't._

Yawning loudly, Alan reached out towards his bent knee, stomach muscles straining as he kept himself in position long enough to scratch at a mildly irritating spot behind the joint.

"Hey." Water droplets splashed across his arm and face.

Alan thumped the hammock with a clenched fist and groaned out a loud, "Oh, for Pete's sake!"

Gordon, whose arms were propped up on the edge of the wet decking a couple of metres away from Alan, gave an innocent smile. "Just lookin' out for my little brother's welfare. Can't blame a guy for caring, Sprout."

Wiping the water from his skin, Alan sent the older Tracy a hard glare. "Enough with the babysitting act already, Gords. I'm not contagious anymore, I'm over this thing. You can't spend the rest of your life watching my every move."

"You can still get an infection in one of the spots, though," Gordon argued lightly, pushing himself away from the wall and beginning to tread water. "It's not worth the risk, Al. Besides, since I'm flying up to that freakin' metal prison tomorrow morning, this is the last chance I have to tell you off and legitimately get away with it."

Shrugging, Alan settled back against the hammock, smiling again. "Fair enough."

A short silence passed and the blond allowed his gaze to return to the sunlit vegetation above him, studying the varying shapes and colours of each individual leaf. He heard Gordon climb out of the pool, heard the loud splatter of the droplets as they fell to the decking beneath his brother's feet, but didn't look his head until he saw the aquanaut appear beside him out of the corner of his eyes. Sparing the redhead a glance, he raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

Something flickered in the swimmer's for a moment, a spark of something that Alan couldn't identify. But then it was gone and Gordon smiled, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Nothin'."

His brother turned away with his usual energy, but something about Gordon's earlier hesitance compelled him to press the matter. Reaching out to snag the man's arm – almost overturning the hammock in the process – he successfully halted Gordon's retreat.

"No, seriously, what is it?"

Gordon regarded him silently for one moment, then released a small sigh of resignation and shrugged, smiling in a manner that was lacking in its usual cheeky confidence that it could almost be classified as _sheepish_.

"I'm just kinda gutted that we don't get to spend more time with each other," he admitted, scuffing his bare foot along the decking and shrugging again in an attempt to make the statement seem more casual and less....sentimental. "Ya know, the whole point of you coming home was so that you could hang out with us for the weekend. That kinda failed, huh?"

Alan echoed Gordon's gentle laugh and nodded softly, tracing his fingers along the edge of the hammock. "Yeah, kinda."

"You really gotta stop getting sick like this, kid," Gordon persisted and, judging by the uncharacteristically serious gaze that locked with his own, Alan suspected that they were now getting to the heart of the matter. "I mean it. Last year was bad enough, but we really don't want an annual repetition. Can't you settle for something simple, like a cold?"

"Nah," Alan joked, waving away the comment and crossing his arms over his chest as he began to swing again. "Where would be the fun in that? I like going for the deadly and unusually bizarre viruses."

Gordon's brow furrowed. "Alan."

"Dude, c'mon, it's not like I have a say in what bugs I get," the blond protested, peering up at his brother's still wet face and cracking a half-smile.

"I know, but....just try and _not_ get them in the first place, okay? Eat lots of vitamin C, drink plenty of fluids, enjoy the sunshine-"

Alan laughed. "Gordon, are you actually giving me a health lecture here?"

"Yes....No." The aquanaut cleared his throat. "Maybe."

The teenager grinned. "That's cute, Gords."

Gordon's mouth fell open. "Did you just-"

A tinkling chime echoed across the pool area, interrupting the redhead mid-sentence. Alan sat up quickly and swung his legs over the side of the hammock, standing to his feet and smirking as Gordon's attention shifted to the main villa entrance. Now faced with the exciting prospect of dinner, their previous conversation had been completely and utterly forgotten. Well, that worked for Alan.

Exhaling a sigh of relief, he turned to follow his brother across the decking and towards the house.

"Saved by the bell."

* * *

_**Only one more chapter left now, my lovelies. Out next week. Stay tuned!**_

_**Review, s'il vous plait. :)**_


	14. Chapter 14

_**Greetings!**_

_**Indeed, it is I - the long lost Thunderbirds author who's left you high and dry, waiting without word for the final instalment of 'A Spot Of Bother', for almost three and a half months. **_

_**Yeah, my bad. Big, big apologies.  
**_

_**But I've really made college a priority since Christmas and, coupled with my laptop going caput and deleting a seven-thousand word dissertation two weeks before it was due in, the endless studying has made fanfiction a no-go area. I wouldn't allow myself the temptation, knowing I'd be sucked into reading and writing with the same enthusiasm I displayed last year - which, as most of you will know, does eat up a fair amount of your free time.**_

_**I hope this final chapter is everything you guys wanted it to be. Getting back into the mood of this story after such a long break was really, really tough (and I admit that without blushing because I think it's only natural), but I'll feel better once the 'complete' icon appears. It was time to finish it up.**_

_**For those who are still with me...read on!**_

_**

* * *

**_

A flock of birds took flight in panic as the shrill call of a school bell rang out across the snow-dusted grounds of Wharton Academy. Squinting against the sunlight, Alan watched the winged creatures grow smaller and smaller until they were little more than specks of dust on the bright horizon. Then he pulled himself from his reverie with a sudden shudder, the jerk of his hand leaving a long streak of graphite across the pristine page of his chemistry textbook. He winced, eyeing the damage for a moment before flipping his pencil upside-down and putting the eraser to good use.

"Not enough illustrations in there for your liking?"

Alan started with such a force that the paper beneath his eraser crinkled on the following stroke. He cast the middle aged professor who stood leaning over his desk a sheepishly apologetic smile and carefully closed the book.

"Sorry."

The teacher flashed him an easy grin and waved away the apology, handing him a small sheet of notepaper.

"You need any help catching up, my classroom door's always open," he began softly, removing his glasses and slipping them into the top pocket of his shirt. "But I know you do sports, so I figured you'd probably be handling most of the work on your own. These," he tapped the paper meaningfully, "are a few useful study sites that'll explain the course in simple terms. If you're working late at night, they'll be as good a place as any to go looking for answers."

Folding the sheet carefully and slipping it onto the front page of the text book, Alan nodded gratefully. "Thanks, Mr. Daniels"

As the professor moved back towards his desk at the front of the classroom, Alan sagged in his chair, a slight smile tugging at his mouth as he played with the corner of the notepaper that poked out beneath the cover of his book. At least Mr. Daniels understood his predicament. He'd been so snowed under with work this past week, he'd barely slept a wink. It was nice to know that the scientist was on his side - which was more than could be said for his history teacher. Mr. Farley had refused to allow Alan any additional time in which to research his presentation topic. Needless to say, his score in that particular assignment had been very much below the average.

"_Don't let it bother you, Al,"_ Scott had soothed when Alan had ranted to his older brother later that same day. _"He's always been a prickly old miser. He once gave this buddy o' mine an extra homework assignment for sneezing too loudly in class. Claimed he'd done it intentionally. We used to call him 'Mr. Snarley' when I was at school. Kinda low and pathetic, I know, but it felt good to get back at him somehow."_

Alan smiled to himself at the memory. That little nugget of information had definitely helped to raise his spirits. That evening in the common room, he'd graciously shared the pet name with his classmates. Now it was only a matter of time before one of the more rebellious students said it to Farley's face. Alan was thoroughly looking forward to that moment.

"Al?"

Glancing up, Alan blinked, wondering just how long he'd been sitting there. The classroom was empty now, aside from himself and the three teenagers who stood waiting nearby, watching him expectantly. At the front of the room, Mr. Daniels had gone back to marking his papers; the enormous stack of sheets seemed to forever take up residence upon his desk.

Ben stepped forward, a worried frown beginning to grow along the deepening crease in his forehead as he studied Alan's face carefully. "You okay, man?"

Alan grinned, sliding the textbook into the rucksack at his feet. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why d'you ask?"

He shrugged. "No reason. You just seemed kinda...spaced out back there."

"Dude, relax. I'm _fine_," Alan repeated, slinging the strap over his shoulder and pushing his friend towards the door. "C'mon, let's eat. I'm starved."

He heard Mr. Daniels snort. "Like father, like son."

With lazy salute towards his smiling chemistry teacher, the youngest Tracy shoved the others out into the corridor, smirking as they shot frowns of feigned annoyance in his direction. Man, it was good to be back.

"If the wind blows, you're gonna freeze that way," Alan said brightly, parroting one of John's more favoured comebacks. "And you'll have a hard time scoring chicks with a face like a monkey's ass."

So perhaps it wasn't a word-for-word quotation, but it had the desired effect nonetheless. Trying to look offended but failing miserably, Fermat landed a swift punch to his upper arm, which Alan returned with equal enthusiasm. Ben and Jake glanced at each other momentarily, and then exchanged their own punches for good measure. Together, the four teenagers set off down the corridor, Alan and Fermat leading the way, the younger boy's recent growth spurt having finally provided him with the length of leg he required to keep up with the Tracy son's brisk pace.

Alan flashed a smile as one of the older students from the track team walked by. The other pupil returned gesture, clapping him on the shoulder as he brushed past, and Alan was content. Walking around the school definitely wasn't such a nightmare now that people had become accustomed to his physical appearance. His long-sleeved clothing managed to hide most of the pock marks, but there was nothing he could do about the spots on his face. On his first day back at Wharton's, he had been painfully aware of his altered appearance, self-conscious to the extreme, certain that every pupil's gaze was trained on him as he walked quickly from class to class, head bent low, eyes downcast. But that feeling had passed quickly. In fact, his classmates had been sympathetic more than anything. Then again, he'd only been back a week. Perhaps the less savoury characters in the school were simply too afraid of catching chickenpox to approach him.

Grinning, Alan shook his head, coming to a halt in front of his locker. Maybe being sick had its benefits after all.

_**TB-TB-TB**_

"What _is_ it?"

Three pairs of eyes studied the contents of the bowl intently, brows furrowed.

Fermat tilted his head to one side. "She did say it was v-vegetable soup, right?"

Jake snorted. "Soup? Dude, that stuff's not even close to being soup. And I don't know what _that_ is," he picked up Ben's fork and poked at a floating lump of something soft and pale, "but it ain't any kinda vegetable _I've_ ever seen."

Ben reclaimed his fork, frowning, only to begin poking at another lump of 'vegetable' that was floating lazily in the pool of watery...whatever it was. "Ya know," he remarked, withdrawing the pronged end and setting the object aside, "I'm not sure they were even supposed to serve this. It looks like something you'd find in a...in a blocked drain or something. It looks like...like-"

"Toxic waste?" Jake supplied helpfully.

"That's the stuff," the taller boy confirmed. He eyed the bowl with an air of mild suspicion. "Ya think they're tryin' to poison us?"

"P-probably," Fermat agreed, nodding slowly as he leaned back in his chair, as though he were trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and the substance in question.

Ben grinned. "I bet old Snarley's just dying to get rid of Alan. Maybe he bribed the kitchen staff." He eyed the 'soup' in a new light. "Must've taken some doing, making it look and smell as bad as that."

"Maybe the chef's dog barfed it up," Jake suggested lightly.

Alan landed a non-too-gentle kick to the other teenager's shin. "Guys, I'm trying to eat here."

Fermat's eyes widened. "You're gonna _eat_ that stuff?"

"What, that?" Alan scoffed, looking up from his plate of fries to glance at the untouched bowl. "Not on your life. I took it out of curiosity more than anything. Sometimes it's not all that bad; other times, it's my history presentation in liquid form. Ya know, they actually made a half-decent attempt at minestrone on Monday."

Ben took a large bite out of his slice of pizza, chewing thoughtfully as he drew patterns on the shiny surface of the table with the grease on his fingertips. "Maybe," he mumbled, the words muffled by the food still in his mouth, "the only decent cook in the school has Fridays off."

Alan sniffed a grin. "I'll bear that in mind the next time I ask for soup."

They ate in companionable silence for a little while, Jake and Ben displaying their usual aptitude for ingesting large quantities of food in a relatively short period of time. Having grown up with brothers like Scott and Gordon, the sight was a familiar one, and Alan found it oddly comforting. Although he didn't care to admit it, he'd missed his family more than ever this past week. Perhaps it was simply because his workload had increased tenfold and the pressure to catch up was stressing him out; or maybe he'd just grown used to having his siblings around and everything about Wharton's screamed their absence. Either way, he'd found himself sneaking up to his dorm room to check his messages at every available opportunity, which wasn't something he'd card to make a habit of before now.

His brothers seemed eager enough to encourage his regular tele-calls. And with Gordon still up on Thunderbirds Five – poor John was temporarily 'grounded' back on base with a head cold - the second youngest Tracy had made it clear that he would be available for a chat anytime, any day. Indeed, it was apparent that he was desperate for some form of a distraction. There was only so much exercise he could do up there before the machines got wise and switched themselves off. And, unlike John, Gordon really wasn't the reading type.

Alan grinned. In a way, it was comforting to know that at least one of his siblings shared his current position; stuck miles and miles away from home, with no chance of returning for at least a month (unless, God forbid, disaster struck) and fully reliant upon technology to maintain communications with his family. Although, come to think of it, perhaps Gordon had drawn the short straw out of the two of them; Alan at least had several hundred high school students to keep him company. His brother only had the stars and a couple of goldfish. And Alan had to admit, the food at Wharton's was _marginally_ better than the freeze-dried _"heat 'n' eat"_ NASA ration packs the aquanaut was currently living off. Oh, Gordon wouldn't be happy about that. If there was one thing all Tracys had in common, it was their love for good food.

A tap on his shoulder drew him from his thoughts and he turned, hooking one arm over the back of his chair and peering up at the dark-haired senior student standing behind him. He smiled and raised a hand in greeting.

"Phil. Hey. "

The older boy returned the smile. "Hey." He glanced across the table towards Jake, nodding cheerfully, and then looked back down at Alan. "You feelin' up to running today, Tracy? Coach doesn't want to break you in too fast, but since the snow's all but melted now and conditions underfoot are as safe as they're gonna get in winter, he figured that today's as good a day as any to get stuck in with the programme again. So," he grinned hopefully, " you up for it?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Alan pinged a fry at Fermat when the boy opened his mouth to answer. "Rhetorical question, dude." He turned back towards the track captain. "I'll be there."

"Awesome." Phil clapped him on the shoulder and jerked his head in the direction of the entrance to the dining hall. "I'll go tell coach to expect a full house this afternoon. Oh, and Maleski?"

With his hands behind his head and his feet propped up on the table as he rocked back on his chair, Jake sent the older boy a glance of feigned disinterest. "Mm-hmm?"

"Make sure Tracy doesn't trip over his laces in class and fracture something important, okay? Coach'll have my head if anything else happens to him. I'll see you guys later. Hackenbacker," he nodded at Fermat, then at the tall teen sitting beside him, "Ben."

He clapped Alan on the shoulder again, pushed himself away from the table and jogged across the dining hall, his lean form disappearing into the throng of students bustling around near the door.

Jake watched him go in silence for a moment, before lowering hi s feet from the table. He sat up straight and slowly turned to face a frowning Ben. Smirking, he held out his hand and crooked a finger. "C'mon, pay up."

Ben dug into his jacket pocket, muttering something incomprehensible, and slapped a fistful of crinkled notes onto his friend's palm. Alan looked from one to the other, suspicion etched across his features.

"What's all this about?"

Jake grinned. "We have this ongoing bet," he replied, leaning back in his chair again and stuffing the notes into his pocket, "that Phil's never gonna be able to remember Ben's last name. We've been at it for months now."

"I swear the guy secretly knows about it," Ben grumbled, but the mirth in his eyes belied his sullen tone. "Just you wait, Gonzales. One of these days, Phil's gonna slip. Then _I'll_ be the one raking in the money."

"That's the spirit." Jake slapped him on the back. "Optimism's the best course of action. And you never know, one day it might even happen! But until then-"

"Don't," Ben warned

"-you're just gonna have to put up with being a loser."

Alan wisely pushed his chair back from the table as Ben growled and made a grab for the cold 'soup'. Pulling Fermat up and out of his seat, he pushed him towards the door.

"I don't think we wanna be here when a teacher intervenes," he murmured. Fermat nodded, quickening his pace to a jog as the sound of disgruntled and soup-splattered students rose up behind them.

_**TB-TB-TB**_

The winter chill wasn't all that bad. In a way it was quite refreshing, especially after being cooped up inside for so long. Coach Stevens hadn't allowed him to train with the track team for the past four days, arguing that he needed to slowly ease himself back into the exercise regime after such a long period of absence, and that training in near-blizzard conditions wasn't the right way to go about it. Alan hadn't put up much of a fight. He'd never been overly fond of snow.

But it felt good to be outdoors again; to feel the bitterly cold wind against his skin, the breeze making the loose material of his track pants flap noisily about his lower legs; to shift restlessly from foot to foot in an attempt to regain the feeling in his toes as he waited for Coach to send them out onto the track. With these familiar sensations came a calming sense of normality - something that had been absent ever since he left Wharton's with John three weeks ago. It felt good to have his world finally righting itself again.

"I've missed seeing that ugly mug of yours, ya know," Jake remarked casually as they trudged towards the orange tarmac of the running track, kicking at the sporadic patches of frozen snow that clung resolutely to the frosty grass. "Craig's been pacing me these past few weeks, but it hasn't been the same. He's not as annoying as you, for starters."

Alan reached the track first and began to stretch, bringing one knee up to his chest, then the other. "I'm touched. Really."

Grinning, Jake hopped from foot to foot for a moment, watching as the other teenager bent down to tap the toes of his running shoes. He tilted his head to one side. "You not warmed up enough yet?"

The blond straightened, shrugging, then began rolling his shoulders. "I haven't exercised in weeks, Jake. And I'm not gonna spend the weekend nursing a strained muscle."

"We'll take it slow," Jake promised, with only faint note of impatience.

Alan sighed, hopping from foot to foot a few times to loosen his tensed hamstrings, and turned to face the faster runner.

"Fine," he conceded.

Jake was as good as his word, keeping their pace slow and steady - almost painfully so - for the first few minutes. After a short while had passed, Alan's muscles began to remember their previous strength and sought a more familiar rhythm. The youngest Tracy quickened their light jog to a brisker tempo and surged forwards, matching his friend's grin as Jake caught up with him.

The track soon became a world of its own, and all memory of his past troubles fled until the only thing that existed aside from his own body was the orange tarmac beneath his feet and the cool, early Spring breeze sweetly kissing his flushed cheeks. It was as though his feet carried him away from the overshadowing concerns of school life; from the piles of prep work that sat waiting for him on his desk in the dorm room, growing taller and taller by the day; from the less charitable teachers who seemed more than usually determined to add to it at every opportunity. His imagination soared and his mind blocked out all external sounds save the steady beat of his own two feet, so that the rapid, echoing drum within his chest serenaded his journey across the unknown without interruption.

Time was always of little consequence once his mind had drifted and his body had taken flight like this. He could have been running for five minutes, maybe ten - or perhaps several hours. Who could tell? The remaining spark of common sense buried somewhere beneath the shrouds of euphoria told him that a brief glance at his watch would settle the matter, but in doing so this exhilarating state of detachment would be shattered. And he wasn't ready to come back down to earth, not just yet.

Earth, it seemed, had other ideas.

There was a sudden and unexpected vibration, a sharp buzz in his wrist which seemed to shake his very bones. He faltered, stumbling to a halt, his legs turning jelly-like as his blood continued to pulse rapidly through his limbs. He bent double, turning his back on the playing field in the centre of the track so that the other runners on the opposite side of the training grounds could not see what he was doing. Raising his arm so that the buzzing watch was facing him, he glanced briefly at the flashing lights, and something cold and unpleasant slid down his chest and settled itself at the pit of his stomach. Breathing heavily, and not just from the exercise, he quickly pressed his thumb and forefinger against the buttons above and beneath the watch face, holding them down for a few seconds before releasing. The watch ceased to vibrate immediately and the flashing lights grew dark, but the cold, liquid feeling in Alan's stomach remained.

This particular alert could mean only one thing: that the Thunderbirds had been launched on another rescue mission.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump and he straightened quickly, whirling towards the broad figure who stood alongside him.

"Coach," he panted, and for one horrible moment Alan feared that the Olympic gold medallist had seen everything – not that he'd know what the signal meant even if he_ had_ caught a glimpse of the watch, but Alan was still reeling from the suddenness of it all and hadn't yet come to realise this.

Coach Stevens eyed him critically. "What happened, kid?"

"Nothing, Coach, I'm sorry...I-" he broke off, breathless and at a loss for words. He decided to keep it simple. "I just lost my focus for second, that's all. I'm fine now."

The man's brow crinkled into its usual frown and his grip on Alan's shoulder tightened. "I don't like the look of you, son. No offense intended, of course," he added, a wry smile quirking at the corner of his mouth. Then he sobered again began guiding the teenager towards the side of the track. "Let's sit you down a minute."

Alan consented to being gently eased to the ground beside the edge the grassy playing field, biting back the protest that sprung readily to his lips and endeavouring to look as tired as he felt. Perhaps he could use Coach Stevens' concern to his advantage. He really wasn't in the mood for running anymore, and he desperately wanted to find out what sort of rescue operation had been launched.

Alan braced his feet against the tarmac and brought his knees up, still breathing heavily, and felt a large, strong hand slowly forced his head between them.

"Breathe, kid. Deep breaths. I'm not gonna have you fainting on me."

Alan shook his head. "I'm not gonna-"

"Zip it," Stevens ordered gruffly, but his voice was low and Alan knew from experience that the stern tone was only a facade. The guy was as soft as cream cheese beneath the surface, he just kept it hidden._Very _hidden_._ Actually, Alan would never have been able to picture Stevens as a softy if it hadn't been for the surprise visit his wife and four-year-old son had made during one of the training sessions. He and his teammates had seen the _real_ Coach Stevens that day. It was hard to fear him after that, and Coach hadn't really put his heart into keeping up the pretence. It made lying to him like this a little less nerve-wracking.

It wasn't long before Jake came sprinting around the corner of the track, legs pumping furiously as he sped towards them. "Alan! Man, are you okay?" He skidded to a halt beside them. "What happened?"

"I just got dizzy all of a sudden," Alan lied, rubbing a hand down his face. "I'll be okay, just gimme a minute."

Coach Stevens came to squat down in front of him, tilting his head to the side as he studied Alan for a long moment. The teenager dropped his gaze.

"Coach, really, I'll be okay."

"I know," Stevens agreed, standing to his feet again with a slow nod. "But you're done here for today, understand? I won't have you sick again so soon after recovering. Maleski?"

Jake glanced up from where he knelt beside his teammate. "Yeah, Coach?"

"Escort Alan back to his room, make sure he doesn't keel over along the way," the Olympic runner instructed, reaching down and gently grasping Alan's arms, pulling the teenager upright. "If he has another dizzy spell, take him to the medical wing. If you can't find somebody to keep an eye on him, don't bother coming back."

Jake nodded, taking hold of Alan's elbow. "Got it, Coach." He turned towards the grand Wharton's school building in the distance and tugged on his friend's arm. "C'mon, Al."

Alan maintained the expression of weary dazedness for several minutes as they walked away from the track. Only when he was positive that Coach Stevens was no longer able to see his face did he allow his features to relax into a slow, cunning smile, his head turned away from the teenager who walked alongside him so that Jake wouldn't see through the act.

Man, he was good.

**TB-TB-TB**

"You_ sure_ you're gonna be okay?" Jake repeated, glancing back at him from the doorway. He ran a hand through his short, dark locks and scuffed the floorboards with the toe of his sneaker. "Maybe I should stay until Fermat gets here."

Alan shook his head, wincing convincingly, and curled an arm over his eyes. "S'okay," he murmured. "I'm just gonna sleep for a little bit."

Jake sighed, nodding. "Alright. I'll come back and check on you later, after practice. Just take it easy, okay?"

Alan rolled onto his side so that he faced the door and offered his friend a suitably weary smile, touched by the teenager's concern. "I will. Now go on, get outta here, Coach'll be getting worried." He raised a hand and made half-hearted shooing motions. "Break a leg, Gonzales."

Jake laughed. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass on that one." Then, with his usual boisterous grin firmly back in place, he gave a parting wave and jogged off down the corridor and out of sight. The motion-sensitive door slowly slid closed, locking into place with a soft hiss.

Alan immediately threw back the covers and darted towards his desk, snagging his discarded shirt from the nearby dresser and donning it quickly. He grabbed the TV remote and pointed it at the wall-mounted plasma screen, flicking through the news channels as he switched on his laptop with his free hand.

"C'mon," he murmured, increasingly more frustrated as channel after channel refused to cough up the story he was looking for. "This is more important than GM crops, guys. You're getting sloppy."

The cheerful chime of the message alert on his cell phone provided a momentary distraction. Dropping the remote onto the table, he typed his password into the laptop as he dug around on his desk for the phone. Locating it beneath a discarded packet of potato chips, he flipped it open, eyes widening as the sender's name popped up.

_John._

He opened the message and scanned it quickly, feeling his fluttering stomach begin to settle as he read and then re-read the text.

_**Hey. Dad went with Virgil. Just a simple paint job. Chillax. I'm in my room, vid me when you can. John x**_

Hooking his foot around the desk chair, he pulled it closer and sat down, snapping the cell phone shut. He shook his head slowly and, with a wry grin, tossed the device back onto the desk. Switching off the television, he turned up the volume on his laptop and sent a call directly to the telecom station in John's bedroom. A few moments later, a familiar head and torso appeared on the screen.

John offered him a welcoming grin, although it lacked his usual enthusiasm, and croaked out a painfully rough, "Hey, kiddo."

Alan frowned, studying the older blond critically. "Hey. You feeling worse today?"

His brother waved away the suggestion. "Nah, I sound worse than I feel. And the guys woke me up when they launched the 'birds. Haven't been sleeping much recently."

The blond hair, usually so perfectly coifed, looked decidedly unkempt, and Alan could see the tell-tale lines of sleep that creased the skin around John's eyes. Reassured that there was nothing to be overly concerned about, he allowed himself to relax, leaning back in his desk chair and crossing his arms over his chest, the thin set of his mouth relaxing into another wry grin.

"By _'a simple paint job'_, I'm guessing it's nothing particularly catastrophic?"

He nodded. "Far as I can tell. A plane carrying a team of environmental biologists went down about an hour ago in a secluded area of the Sahel. Search and rescue will take too long to reach them; night's already fallen and it's too remote an area. _We_, however, can get there in a quarter of the time. 'Two can trace the signal right back to the source and use it as a guide, so we offered to help."

Alan chewed his lip thoughtfully for a moment, trying to place the name, then shook his head and sent his older brother a sheepish look. "I suck at geography. The Sahel would be in...?"

A real grin lit up John's face and he regarded his younger brother in fond amusement. "Africa, Sprout. The Sahel sits right below the Sahara desert. The whole place is practically a desert itself, that's why it's so sparsely populated."

"The Sahel," Alan repeated softly. "It's a safe area, right?"

"Well..." John twisted his own desk chair from side to side lazily, smiling, "the guys'll be safe from flash floods, at least. It's the height of the dry season, no rain for months. They'll be fine"

"John."

"They'll be _fine_, kiddo," the astronomer reiterated, his tone gentle and reassuring beneath the gravelly croak. "Gordon spoke to the pilot; they had engine trouble and were forced to make a hasty landing, touched down on a rocky patch and got a little roughed up in the process. Cuts and bruises mostly, although one guy has a broken collar bone. Nothing Virge can't handle."

"Well, that's a relief," Alan sighed. Embarrassed, he rubbed the back of his neck, a bad habit he'd picked up from more than one of his older siblings. "I hated not knowing. Nearly decked it on the track when my watch went off."

John - who had been taking a long, slow drink from a mug of something hot, judging by the steam - eyed Alan silently for a moment, one brow drifting gradually upwards. He set the mug aside.

"Smooth."

"Yup."

Suddenly, his face brightened. "Hey, I got some news for you."

"Oh?" Alan perked up, interested. "What?"

His brother smirked. "Guess."

"Johnny..."

"Clue's in the opening line, kiddo," John stated cheerfully. He cleared his throat and repeated, "Hey, I got some _news_ for you."

Lost, Alan shook his head. "Nope. No idea."

John sighed, caught between exasperation and fond amusement. "ATM news? Martha Stuarts? C'mon, Al. That ring any fire bells?"

"The online article," Alan blurted, recalling suddenly the legal action his father had taken against the staged fire alarm that had resulted in unwanted media attention. "What about it? Did our lawyers win the case? Did they manage to withdraw the photograph?"

"Oh, they did more than that." John's eyes flashed and he cocked an evil little smile reserved only for moments of pleasing retribution. "Not only has ATM deleted the article, but poor little Martha Stuarts has been given the pink slip."

Alan's eyes widened. "They fired her? They _actually_ fired her?"

"Yup. Seems ATM's star reporter wasn't as popular as she thought she was. They didn't even try to defend her case, they just let her take the rap and submitted a formal apology to you and the family on her behalf. I think it's safe to say that we won't be seeing her surgically sculpted features for a long while."

Alan nodded, relief surging through him at the knowledge that everything was finally over. "Good. That's...that's good."

John tilted his head to one side, eyes narrowing at the weary tone. "Hey. You okay?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, I'm fine." He scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed heavily. "Just a little tired."

"As I recall," the older Tracy began, then coughed wetly to clear his throat before continuing, "the last time you were 'just a little tired', you woke up covered from head to toe in spots and spent the next two weeks in bed."

Unable to think of a suitable comeback – a position his brothers had often shared with him when it came to talking with John – Alan settled for poking out his tongue. Pathetic, yes, but it made him feel better.

John laughed softly, the action bringing forth a short, wheezy coughing fit. "Mature, Al," he managed, his cheeks flushed but his grin just as sincere as before. "Glad to know the whole education thing is paying off."

"Aw, shut up," Alan groused, picking up the packet of potato chips that sat next to his laptop and throwing it at the screen. When his brother's laughter once again dissolved into chesty coughs, he grew more serious. "And get some water or something before you bring up a lung. A capful of cough syrup wouldn't go amiss, either."

The other blond drew an arm across his watering eyes and nodded, a little more red in the face. "Yeah, you're probably right. You gonna be okay now?"

"Actually," Alan said lightly, "I think I'm gonna go sit in the bathroom and cry."

John grinned. "Well, you have fun with that. I'm gonna grab some meds and check on Brains, but I'll be back here in an hour or so if you need to chat. Dad'll call you when they get back, provided it's not past your bedtime."

Alan snorted. "I don't do bedtimes, John."

"Can I pass on that little nugget of information to Dad? Or Scott?"

"Bye, Janice."

John levelled him with a hard stare. "I wasn't joking, you know."

"Hey, when Spring Break rolls around, I'll bring you back a box of Hershey Kisses," Alan promised, smiling hopefully. "You are, after all, my favourite brother."

The astronomer winked. "Atta boy. Take care of yourself, okay?"

Alan nodded, raising one hand to his temple in a half-hearted salute and offering a lopsided smile. "Yes, _Dad._" He leaned forwards, reaching for the keyboard. "Feel better soon."

"Thanks, buddy. Take care."

The call ended with a sharp electronic _'beep'_ and Alan sank back in the desk chair, smiling to himself, feeling better than he had done all week. He stretched an arm out in front of him lazily, eyeing the fading pock marks as he tapped his foot lightly against the metal leg of the desk. It really was over. Somehow, the news of Martha's job termination and the withdrawal of that dreadful photograph had provided a sense of closure that had previously been lacking. It had been the missing piece of the puzzle, the one thing that had been bugging him unawares at the back of his mind. How could he have forgotten about it? Well...getting chickenpox had certainly served as a plausible distraction. Besides, it didn't matter anymore. It was over. The spots were healing. And – poor John aside – his family was just fine. Things couldn't be better.

The electronic lock on the door clicked, startling Alan from his own thoughts, a split second before Fermat darted into the room. He was breathing heavily, glasses askew and hair rumpled, but had the good sense to lock the door behind him before addressing Alan.

"I tried to g-get here sooner," he panted, pushing his thick-rimmed glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose, "but things d-didn't exactly go according to plan. I faked an asthma attack to get out of computing, but Mr. Byrnes got so worried that he had S-Stevie Geldon escort me to the med-wing. It took me ages to persuade them that I was f-f-, that I was okay." He heaved a deep, noisy breath and then released it again, visibly sagging. "So," he said, a little more in control of himself, "what did I miss?"

Grinning, Alan leaned back in his chair. "Ah, nothing much," he said lightly, putting his hands behind his head. "Just the usual."

"S-so we're good?"

"Yeah, Fermat. We're good."

_- THE END_ -

* * *

_**A very BIG thank you to all those who emailed me so frequently over the past few months. Your support and comfort has been a real blessing. My apologies for not reading new fics/keeping up with current ones, I've barely even allowed myself online time to use my email because the internet was too much of a distraction. Yeah, I'm that determined. My parents are despairing. **_

_**To my three lovely ladies, and you know who you are, who I have been out of contact with for at least a month (ouch, sorry) - I will be messaging you soon! It is currently the Easter holidays over here in Britain, so free time is a touch more plentiful than it was before. I'll give you an update on what's been happening with my life as soon as I can. And I'll read your stories, too, and do some much-needed catching up.**_

_***hugs* I love you all.**_

_**Review? Maybe? Just a few little ones? I know I don't deserve it but...please? One last time, with feeling? **_

_**Little Miss Bump xoxox  
**_


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